The Evenstar in Twilight
by ArwenFairTinuviel
Summary: Arwen catches sight of Aragorn passing through the woods of Lothlorien. She decides to follow him and his Ranger party up the Misty Mountains, desperate to be with him again. But little does she know what Aragorn has in mind...
1. Dreams

Chapter 1 - Dreams

Under the grey boughs of great majestic trees, through a glade of golden-green grass dappled with shadows, an Elf was dancing. Her path was lighter than the wind which barely stirred the quivering blades, and quieter than its secretive, melodious whispers. A shaft of sunlight briefly caught her radiant face: Arwen was smiling.

Under her breath she hummed an ancient Elven lay. With every delicate step Arwen made she was springing herself further and further away into a beautiful reverie, wandering the haunting places where the Elf-minstrels have the coveted gift to send their eager listeners. While Arwen knew her imagination was intense, she was content to live in tangible dreams this way, and merely smiled knowingly to herself when she heard the rumours on the gentle breeze blowing through the trees of Lothlórien towards her.

Now she was singing an early part of the song of Nimrodel, when the fair maiden met the Elven-prince Amroth. In her eyes, she was Nimrodel skipping along the river bank, and Amroth, although being an Elf, came towards her wearing the face of Aragorn, the secret flame of her heart, the longed-for star in her dark night, the mortal man with whom she had fallen deeply in love. Arwen could almost feel his hot breath on her neck as the Elves embraced, smell his damp hair as they danced together in bubbling waters of the singing Nimrodel, see the dazzling brightness of his keen, loving eyes. Such a moment of perfect happiness there in the beautiful Elven land, together, at rest at last –

Arwen was jolted out of her dream, and her eyes which had been lulled closed now abruptly open in a flash of blue. Finding herself, she feebly stopped singing and paused in the eddying water. She turned round and looked downstream, hearing many talking voices heading her way.

As yet still out of sight, Arwen's Elf ears could hear multiple footsteps falling upon the grassy earth and brushing through the undergrowth. She wondered who it could be and scrolled through pictures of Elves in her mind… Orophin, with a group of friends, or Rimbë coming to tend some of the waning trees, or perhaps some folk approaching the river to hallow it to Ulmo, as was a custom there.

Arwen shivered and looked down. Now that she was still and shaken, the waters around her legs felt ice-cold and her skin was whitening rapidly. Resigned to the loss of her dream, a rare escape from the pains of missing her love, she slowly climbed out and made her way through the long rushes, leaving behind a narrow valley between the golden stems. Taking on the new situation with apprehension she decided to leap up a nearby mallorn tree and hide herself high above the woodland floor… maybe she could resume her dream if removed from the oncoming invasion. Yet no sooner had she settled down on a smooth elegant branch, enveloped in a lace of rich sunny-yellow leaves, than the leaders of the interrupting host began to appear out of the distant trees and Arwen was distracted.

She blinked with surprise and squinted as hard as she could through the narrow vista. The reason for her hesitancy was that these people were for sure not Elves, not in the way they looked, nor the way they walked did they resemble Elf-kind. The sound of their voices alone informed her that there were definitely no women with them. Curious, Arwen leant forward further.

How strange… they were Men. Men never came through Lórien during these dangerous times. They had not passed through there for many long years. In fact, Arwen contemplated, resting back against the rising branch, she wondered if Men had ever been granted the word of the Lady to let them pass. She frowned. So who were they?

They could not be men of Rohan, cynics of the sorceress, content to live in far off southern lands and not meddle with the Lady of the Wood's magical powers. They were not men of Gondor, who were always engaged in struggle with the Shadow on their borders, too busy to be able to spare any men for travelling. But men from the North…

Arwen sighed. So good-hearted and full of valour, and for sure blessed by the Lady Galadriel… but so few, so few were left, and where to be found?…

Arwen's head rolled dejectedly across the tree trunk and her gaze dropped down to the party, now easily in sight. She gave a start and eagerly straightened up, rigid. They _were_ the Dunedain! With excitement jittering around in her chest she watched the tall, strong figures, clothed in dark greens and greys, with short knives in their belts, swords swinging rhythmically at their hips, and tall sycamore bows clasped in their skilled hands. Arwen had an unusual history of fondness for these Rangers, and with many she was well acquainted, having befriended them in her father's realm.

Now they were passing into the very glade where she had not long ago been dancing, talking freely with each other, dark eyes twinkling animatedly in the sunlight. It was clear to see that they sensed the safety and peace of the realm, even if they did not know of or could not see the Elven guards on the borders of the wood, no more than watchful shadows.

Whilst watching them, Arwen found herself fascinated by a man leading the company. He seemed to be walking with more care than his friends, and a different air was carried about his shoulders. He was not _Elvish_, but there was not other word that suited him more. He was taller, and had thicker, longer hair than the others; and yet his garments were even shabbier looking than any of the others', and he seemed to carry heavier burdens deep inside himself.

This mystery magnetised Arwen's attention, and she subsequently found a very useful gap between the leaves in order to examine him more closely. She whispered to herself softly under her breath as she saw him, now only twenty feet away, and her heart began to beat much faster. She loved Aragorn – she loved him beyond the boundaries of Arda - but she could not deny the extent to which she found this man so wonderfully attractive; solely for the innocent reason that everything about him rekindled the intense memories she had of those precious rare moments she had snatched with Aragorn, and it was a blissful release to relive them more tangibly than her meagre dreams.

But, frustratingly, she was at the wrong angle, and his face was hidden from her view, even though he was so infuriatingly close. Arwen was extremely upset and edged further along the branch than she would normally dare, so determined she was to catch a glimpse of his concealed face.

Just as he was passing under the sheltering branches of her mallorn tree, the Ranger stopped. As if puzzled, he looked down, stooped, and reached out towards the whistling rushes. Arwen held her breath and watched closely as he, kneeling, rubbed some of the brittle leaves between his fingers, then placed them to his nose. Arwen gasped, noticing the trail she had left in the rushes, and sincerely hoped that this captivating Ranger with a - with a nice body - could not tell who everyone was by what they smelt like. It was such an irrational thought… it could not be that he knew her scent.

Arwen did not want to be discovered staring at him so impolitely, but she could not tear herself away from the scene, and as if the Ranger could feel her keen blue eyes on him, his hair brushed back over his shoulder as he turned his head and he looked right up the mallorn tree to where Arwen was spying on him. Shock struck Arwen hard in the chest and fell back against the branch, out of sight, struggling to catch a breath.

As chance would have it, however, the man did not see the quick elf-maiden, and, slightly confused, he moved his own eyes down the silver tree-trunk, back along the soft earth; and he sighed.

Rising, now not sure that it had been the person he had believed it to have been, he caught sight of some damp footprints in the soil. They were such slight imprints, and he would not usually have noticed, save that they were still glistening.

They were freshly trodden.

"What is it, my lord?" Another Man came up behind him, resting his hand down on the first's shoulder.

He blinked and looked away, focusing back on the pathway. It could not have been, he told himself.

"Oh… nothing."

He went back to his place at the head of the Rangers, leaving the confused friend to follow behind. Just as he was watching him, he could have sworn his lord had shaken his head to himself, sighed, and quietly muttered, "Nay Estel, don't dream," before quickening his pace and heading off determinedly through the trees.


	2. Loss

Chapter 2 - Loss

Arwen stared up at the distant afternoon sky, utterly stunned. The rest of Middle-Earth was shut off to her completely. All she could hear was the deep beating of her heart thudding loudly in her ears, and all she could see was his face. The face! The face she had not seen for so long, save in her dreams. The face of Aragorn. Aragorn!

She scrambled up, almost toppling off the tree-limb rather uncharacteristically, but elated now that the shock had faded away. It did not matter for now why he was there, why she had not known before… She knew _now_.

Aragorn was there, so close! Oh blessed Valar! After so long! Her face had lit up like a perfect moon in the deepest darkest night, dispelling all shadows.

She eagerly strained to see him again. On catching sight of his familiar dark hair at the head of the host of Dúnedain, her heart leapt with such joy that Arwen felt as if she had leapt up to the very highest treetop. She had not felt so happy in years and the emotion was disorientating. But now the last Dúnedain had passed her tree, and Aragorn was lost in the distant sea of people. A sudden panic stirred her, and as soon as Arwen came to her senses she fled back down the branch. It was not a dream, she knew it. He was here, her Estel, and she would find him!

"My lady?"

Arwen was so startled that the Elf who had spoken was obliged to reach out and steady her.

"Forgive me," Arwen said, so captivated by the thought of being reunited with Aragorn that she did not even look to see who it was. Her mind was wheeling; all she wanted was to run after the Rangers; she would deal with the embarrassment of having been observed later. She made to drop down to the ground but the Elf tightened his grip on her shoulders.

"My lady… wait…"

Arwen was shocked at the resistance the Elf was giving and could not comprehend it. Had she behaved so strangely? Or inappropriately? …She thought not, but then not many Elves understood her love for a mortal.

"I am sorry, please let me explain myself later," she apologised quickly, hoping that now she could leave. With a little more force she tried to pull away. But the Elf held fast.

"Let him go," the voice murmured in her ear, "let him be."

Arwen, driven by the desire to set eyes on Aragorn again, fought more forcefully against his hold. But the Elf, although obviously slightly taken aback at her determination, moved his arms round her body and pinned her arms to her side.

"Why are you hindering me? Please, release me!" she moaned, still trying with all her might to slide out from his grip, while inflicting more injuries on herself than on the other Elf. The binding of his arms was restraining her breathing, and she knew that the Elf could tell she was tiring fast. As her chin weakly dropped down onto her chest, she caught sight of the grey clothes he wore, and she realised that he was a guard of the wood. No wonder he was exercising such resilience to her.

The Elf-guard said with more meaning this time, "Please, let him go." When Arwen began to cough, his tone softened. "I beg your pardon, my lady, but you are hurting yourself."

In desperation Arwen gave one final strike, with all she had left, throwing all her weight on one side and striking her elbow into the guard's chest. She fought, and the Elf swayed, but very quickly he regained his balance and put an end to her rebellion.

Arwen let out a tormented sigh and her eyes hopelessly searched through the rich green leaves, not finding an opening through which to see Aragorn, nor expecting it. Her eyes were beginning to prickle. The spirit that had leapt for joy within her now came crumpling down. She just wanted him… she spluttered as a lump lodged in her throat… was it really so wrong to want to be with the one she loved?

Tears filled her eyes until Arwen could not hold them any longer. She broke down, warm tears streaming down her cheeks, her body trembling from the sobs that wracked her heart, her eyes cursed with raw stings. There she fell out of time, hanging simply in the Elf's guarding arms, crying for the pain of coming so close… so painfully close… only to lose Aragorn again…

Man after man passed out of sight and earshot below them, ignorant of the struggle up in the trees, still talking happily of their journey ahead of them, and the beautiful realm of the elves, and the assurance of a good dinner for once.

As the last group of joyful friends faded away and the birdsong alone made a background to Arwen's sniffles, the Elf in the tree came to realise that if he let go of her now, she would most certainly fall out of the tree. He anxiously called to her.

"My lady Arwen?"

He relaxed his arms from their strong restraint, but still kept his hands there, so fragile she suddenly seemed, and he was still afraid of her falling. The sniffing ceased and slowly Elrond's daughter turned to fix deep, sorrowful eyes on him.

"Haldir?" she whispered, seeing him for the first time, and a trickle ran down her face. The marchwarden of the forest cringed and tried not to feel too guilty. "Why?" she whimpered, the word barely audible, she was so overcome with sadness.

Haldir sighed and bowed his head. "You know why, my lady."

Arwen said nothing but gazed at him with eyes so deep, so full of emotion and thought that the combination was unreadable. He faltered, trying not to think that he, Haldir, first marchwarden of the Golden Wood, had made Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Elrond, Evenstar of her people, cry. What retribution would he receive for this sacrilege? He would never hear the end of the humiliation. Wildly his imagination conjured scenarios that he could bring to pass… Either he could flee and say Arwen had just fallen out of a tree… or he could tell her straight out that it was ridiculous to love a Man and she should forget about him.

Haldir decided on a compromise and took a deep breath.

"Arwen" – pause – "my lady; I have roamed through all this land many times, and do not think I have been blind. I have seen you, wandering around in a dream to save you from the pains of loneliness, eyes full of grief, singing of this Man to comfort you in your sorrow. I know you miss him in every way, and I am sure he adores you, but, Arwen, you must see, he is a mortal, and you cannot love him. Your fate is tied to your people; there is where you belong, be it here in Lórien, or in Imladris if you chose, or indeed in Elvenhome when the time comes. Here with us, the Eldar, we who have seen many years pass over Middle-Earth, and are yet to live many more."

At this Arwen turned her head to stare off into the trees. She appeared not to be listening, but Haldir still strove to give her his council.

"Do not think that you must always be lonely among us. You are _loved _Arwen, by _your_ people… and there are many, many Elves to choose from, who admire you and wonder at your wisdom and radiance. Arwen, hearken to me, _please,_" he bowed in respect, "I wish the best for you, as does your Ada, Lady Galadriel, and the rest of all our kin. We are afraid to lose you. Can you not see that this… this which you feel… it is not real. He is beneath you, my Lady Undómiel. I am sorry. Please, see; let him go."

When Arwen looked at him again, her eyes sparkled brightly with angry tears. She seemed to shiver in an unknown chill and her dark hair fluttered rhythmically in a sudden gust of wind.

"Haldir," she said, and he saw deep in her evening eyes a strange light. "I love him. I understand what you say, but I cannot understand how you believe you change this. No one can; not you, not the Lady of this land, nor Ada. Not even Ilúvatar could change this now. My path is chosen. I love Aragorn. My life is bound to his with ties of love and hope that will never die, and never come undone."

There was a pause as Haldir considered how to reply. Normally, he would have blatantly disagreed and less subtly pointed out that Aragorn, though he was incredibly nice, was (regrettably) a mortal, and if she bound herself to him, she would _die_. He would have come up with clever responses which would baffle an Orc so much it would surrender, it would make a confused Man think he had asked for a glass of lemonade, it would even make another Elf stop in his tracks and meekly side with his clever points. He would have won the disagreement nobly, still maintaining their respect, and seeming ever more the wise lord aiding the Lady Galadriel and her Galadhrim out of his own love for them.

But this time, Haldir was defeated by someone else's words. He stood there puzzled, unsure what to do next: for he knew Arwen was telling the truth. That light, shining out from her soul, that power, that emotion; that was her love, and now he could see that. Haldir could not argue. Arwen had made her choice. She was right, oh so right, what in Arda could he do against Ilúvatar's fateful hand? Nothing.

Haldir sighed, seeing her watch him with concern on her glimmering face. The Elf-lord smiled grimly, wiping his golden hair shakily off his own face. He drew himself up.

"Come, I must take you back to Caras Galadhon. You have wandered a long way today from your home."

He held out a welcoming hand to her. Arwen hesitated a moment before accepting his help, bitterly thinking that her real home was currently walking away in the opposite direction, thanks to Haldir. But she held her tongue and gracefully leapt down from the tree, Haldir hopping down behind her with ease. He led off straight into the trees, away from the path, obviously expecting Arwen to follow suit.

She, however, was standing perfectly still, gazing back wistfully over the bent grass towards the place where her Ranger, her Aragorn, had for sure crouched down and sensed her presence. Without thought, she raised a hand, reaching out to touch his handsome, loving face…

"Arwen!"

The Elf-maiden abandoned the path in defeat and humbly followed through the trees to where Haldir's beautiful chestnut horse had kept hidden, and was now snorting welcomingly, as if to dispel Arwen's despondency. It did not, and it was only by Haldir offering his aid again that Arwen mounted his horse.

Then he leapt up himself. "Nuru lim, Voronwë," he whispered in the horse's twitching ear. And then they sped off through the rich green undergrowth, tearing Arwen away from the direction her heart yearned to pull her in, grey tree trunks flashing by and all the golden leaves flurrying into a dizzying blur.

But still Arwen twisted round and stared back at the empty gap beneath archway of branches under which Aragorn had disappeared. Her eyes flickered in vain, trying not to lose sight of it in the tide of fresh trees. Despite all her efforts, it was a losing battle. She was soon overwhelmed and it vanished without trace.

"Oh, Estel…" she sighed, and tears welled in her eyes.


	3. Plans

Chapter 3 - Plans

Arwen looked around despondently at the ever-gathering gloom that had seeped out like a grey tide from under the trees. As she could see now, they had been riding for a fair amount of time, but in that period Arwen had still not managed to come up with any consoling thought. Of course it had been wonderful to set eyes on Estel again… but the pain of losing him when she had only just had him within inches of her grasp was unbearable. She even thought it may have been better to have never caught sight of him at all, or any of the Dúnedain for that matter. Such vivid reminders of the one she could not yet be with, despite her heart being bound to his, hurt so terribly that forgetting would be easier, if it was possible.

But any chance of that was out of the question. No amount of time, not even the seven years since they had last held each other gently in each other's arms, had ever for a day let Arwen forget. When she rose each morning, she turned to look for Aragorn by her side. Wherever she went, whatever she was doing, she imagined how different it would be if Aragorn was with her in Lórien too, what he would be doing if he was there. She could remember every moment they had spent together as if she was right there in them still, and reliving those glorious emotions in her veins and seeing how beautiful Aragorn was once more in her dreams… the longing was so desperate and so full of need.

But to _actually_ have Aragorn before her; to _actually_ see him; to have his presence _there_ – even if it was for a mere few seconds that she knew…

No, Arwen confirmed to herself resolutely, now forgetting what had passed that afternoon was an absolute impossibility. Before she had seen the Rangers, she had been missing Aragorn as if she was without a vital organ; as if her heart had been taken away with Aragorn's departure, and she was slowly bleeding, tortured, struggling to live without her life force and source of happiness. Nothing would be right without him, not even the most realistic dreams could fulfil her when Aragorn was gone.

But if he was with her… heal her she knew he could. Every fibre of her body ached for Aragorn's comforting presence and to be brought into his arms so soothingly. She wished to hear him whisper so reassuringly in Elvish that she did not hope in vain. She wanted so much to set eyes on him and know he still loved her.

Ai, how the Valar were verily being cruel to tease her like so! Images from earlier were flaunting themselves before Arwen's eyes. Aragorn's quiet, understated countenance as he knelt down where her feet had passed… The tumbling of his dark hair over his face… The caress of his gentle fingers over the leaves… And then those wise, grey eyes lifting up, searching for hers… But she had torn herself away before he had seen. That briefest moment was all she had… and she supposed Aragorn had not even seen her.

Oh, how she would do _anything_ to be with him again… Arwen bowed her head in despair.

But then a quiet, sceptical voice, sounding very like her Ada, murmured from the back of her mind. _Would you do anything?_

Arwen held her breath, searching inside herself to see if she would. Did she have the courage? Did she have the ability to find him again? Did she really love Aragorn enough to do so? The horse rocked Arwen and her thoughts about. Her heart pounded in her mind.

Love was not a question. Doubtless she could work out where Aragorn would be going, with a little effort and perception – she knew the Dúnedain well. As to courage, well, she was not afraid to use a sword, having been well taught under the careful instruction of Glorfindel and her brothers, and with Aragorn in the forefront of her mind… she would not be afraid.

Arwen nodded to herself. She knew she could not go on like this. She needed that reassurance from Aragorn. She could not help it; she would have to go after Aragorn.

_But where is Aragorn going?_ she wondered. The Dúnedain were travelling west through the woods of Lothlórien, so that meant they would be crossing the Misty Mountains. Arwen tried to think like Aragorn… He probably did not want the Rangers to be away from the Shire for too long, like Mithrandir he cared immensely for the hobbits and Arwen knew he would never forgive himself if something bad happened to them while most of the Dúnedain were off elsewhere, leaving the pleasant little land unguarded. Yes, Aragorn would be leading the Dúnedain back to Eriador.

So she could guess what Aragorn's plan, but what plan could she make? What reason did she, Arwen Undómiel, have to pass over the Misty Mountains too?

At this point Arwen's train of thought came to a halt. A bolt of fear flashed across her heart. What if there was no excuse she could give for following Aragorn? …But there _had_ to be a reason… she _needed _one! Arwen bit her lip and forced herself to think hard.

Her Ada! Of course, to visit him in Imladris would be a perfect reason! She had not been there since… since she first met Aragorn. A wistful sight left her lips.

But who would accompany her? Arwen really wished to be alone but she knew her grandmother Galadriel would never allow it; the Wild was far too dangerous now.

Ai! How would she manage it?

Arwen chanced to look up just as Haldir's horse was proudly crossing the elegant bridge into the golden heart of Lothlórien. They eased down to a gentle trot up the white stone lanes that wound under the magnificent mallorns, the greatest trees in Middle-Earth, sown by Galadriel's hand itself. Galadriel's radiance gleamed out in the silver and white lamps poised on the tips of the long branches. Their light outlined hidden flets camouflaged by the leaves and nightfall. From up within the trees diffused music sung by the clear voices of the elves, delightful melodies sounding like soft rain falling on all the leaves of the wood, and the plucking of harp-strings could easily have been accomplished by the agile fingers of the wind. Arwen could not help but be soothed by this heavenly place in which she had dwelt with Galadriel for most of her life, and with her mother Celebrían, for a time.

They rode up to a wide lawn where a fountain, shining as if it had moonlight trapped within the water, played happily and smoothed out into a silky pearly stream. As the horse stopped and whinnied, Haldir climbed down and politely held out a hand for Arwen, once more beginning to apologise after a long journey of tentative silence; but Arwen was still consumed by thought, searching for a way to reach Aragorn. Absent-mindedly she slid down, not hearing Haldir's deep regrets, and she walked past him wordlessly across the carpet of grass to the base of the mightiest of all the trees. There amid a cosy recess in the huge curving roots three Elf-guards stood and bowed before her. At their joyful greetings Arwen inclined her head and gave them a smile, but it quickly waned from her face. She ascended the white ladder among the welcoming arms of the mallorn tree with the silent haste of one who longs to be left alone.

Haldir watched little specks of silver glint on her dress, like jewel drops of water lit with stars, rippling in and out of sight as she ran up the steps. He wondered at her change from sobbing heartbreak into pensive neutrality and thought perhaps that the long journey allowing Arwen to think had done her some good. Perhaps she really had accepted to leave Aragorn behind… forever.

He saw Arwen, far up now, turn and look down at him. She held his gaze and gave him a weak, tired smile. Then she disappeared among the intricate flets.

Haldir made assumptions wrongly.

…

The sun dipped behind the snowy mountains and Aragorn shivered. He pulled his warm (albeit weather-beaten) Elven-cloak closer around his shoulders and brought the hood over his head. He turned to check on how his men were faring.

The Dúnedain were in high spirits and coping well with the journey. The spirit of the beautiful Elves had given them strength of body and peace of mind, and they had come far today. His two friends Halbarad and Calosin had gone on ahead to scout once they had quitted the safety of Lórien's trees. Calosin had seemed concerned about him earlier, after he had sensed someone's presence on their path… someone had just been there before they arrived. Aragorn confided this in Calosin, and he would certainly not betray _who_ he had believed the scent to be - it was silly to let his mind conjure her out of nothing. The brief thrill it gave him was not worth the risk that it could come with if it occurred again in a more critical situation. But it was not just the scent; it was a prickling feeling… that sensation had just seemed so similar –

_No! Aragorn!_ he berated himself, _stop thinking like this, it will not bring Arwen here._

Aragorn gave a long sigh, but he came back to reality and felt pleased with it. This was a good, even place to make camp for tonight. Halbarad and Calosin would soon retrace their tracks and inform him of their group's safety. Tomorrow they would reach Dimrill Dale about two hours after sunrise, and enter it cautiously. Then they would climb a secret stair adjacent but hidden from the Dimrill Stair, and continue with their ascent until they reached the peak of Fanduidhol the Grey, where Galadriel had informed him of a great and rapidly multiplying horde of evil Orcs. It was Aragorn's hope and mission to take them by surprise and destroy every last one of them. That battle was to be two or three days from now.

Aragorn called for the Rangers to stop and make camp. He walked among them as they busied making their inner and outer circle of tents, and building their welcoming fires. Aragorn was always happy when his people were, and they were still talking of their calming journey through the Golden Wood. Many were discussing their choice of Elven food for their supper, which was most welcome seeing as they often had to survive on stale bread and withered plants for meals.

Suddenly there was a yell, and Aragorn spun round, wondering what had happened, and hurried through the tents to the north-west side of the camp, where there were more shouts erupting.

"My lord; Aragorn!" Both Halbarad and Calosin rushed up to him, back from their scouting and appearing to have done rather a lot of running. Calosin looked as if he had a stitch, so Halbarad did the talking to Aragorn.

"My - lord," he panted, taking huge breaths in between words, "Dimrill - Dale, – overrun." The words tumbled out quickly now. "Orcs – everywhere – had to - get-out-of-sight."

He coughed heavily and Aragorn faced this news wide-eyed, but still calmly.

"Thank you, both of you," he said, "go and sit by the fire and get warm. Emathar has put up tents for you already. I will decide how to alter our plans."

His two friends wearily hobbled over to where the food was being prepared before collapsing onto the ground, while Aragorn set a doubled guard around their camp. The Orc bands would not yet see them here, but he would not risk an attack. Watchmen were placed around the double circle of tents, each man in sight of those on either side, and dinner was taken to them. Aragorn was hungry, but thought it prudent to decide on their new plan before food occupied his mind.

He took a small lantern from his pack and struck a light. From the flickering flame he could see his way through the tents, down the path between both circles. It was quieter here, rather than sitting round the roaring burning logs with all his friends; and it was easier to think. He settled himself down on a small cold stone and stared into the mystical shimmering above the candle flame.

To avoid Dimrill Dale he would have to lead his friends up the mountain on ancient snow-coated roads, which would be far more visible than the other route he would have preferred to take. That would mean they must journey at night, and scouts would be of no use. Well, in a way that was good. He liked the reassurance of having Calosin and Halbarad. His other good friend, Emathar, liked to travel in the midst of the party, checking that everyone was alright and nobody was falling behind.

But which was the right path to take? Aragorn knew he had a choice four. A landslide fell onto one three winters ago - that was the one going around the northern edge - and now it was impassable. That eliminated one route.

Also on the north side was another way, but it was prone to avalanches and he was sure his Rangers, hardy as they were, would not appreciate swimming through snow. Aragorn lips twitched and he looked up at the black shape of Fanduidhol set against the deep blue sky. Anyway, that path was sure to be watched by Orcs now.

So that left two. Both of these wound up the mountain on the south-east side, but one was much quicker and safer than the other. It was cut into the rock in such a fashion that you would not find it unless you knew where, and even then it would be hard to discover it, unless of course you had the eyes of an Elf, or maybe a Dúnedain Ranger. The Elves used this hidden road to travel between Rivendell and Lórien; but there was a problem.

It was often very narrow, and getting a huge number through would be near impossible, even for Men of the West. They would have to walk along in single file, and he could not check that everyone was alright and not hurt, unless by word of mouth, and that would be slow. As would giving commands. Say if the company was split in two. He, being at the front, would not know, until too late. And camping would be impossible too. There were caves for about two dozen people, but no way for their sort of numbers. No, he could not go that way. It was just impassable for their size group.

So that left the other path. It was quite open, and wide, with steep cliff faces, except for a few stretches where some overhung part of the road. For a while it travelled underneath the Elven path, but then that soon disappeared, going up the mountain much quicker.

Aragorn supposed that this way would be fine, if a bit long, but it would only add one more day to their journey, and his men were tough. _Well, we are descended from the Númenoreans, _he reminded himself.

Aragorn smiled and stood up, blowing out the lantern and smudging the glowing wick with damp fingers. Yes, he thought, they were the highest of Men left in Middle-Earth. And if he, of all Men, could not win the Evenstar's heart, no Man could.

He sighed gently, not for the first time regretting his mortality, and then his fingers strayed to his breast pocket, searching for something. They found it. Aragorn smiled.

He got up from the small stone, a little warmer now, and walked towards the merry-making round the campfire, ready to have some nourishment.


	4. Eyes and Lies

Chapter 4 - Eyes and Lies

As Arwen entered the lofty flet that was her private room under an archway woven with smooth grey branches, a soaring thrill ripped through her chest and she felt herself jump in the air with excitement, almost crying out with the anticipation of joy. For the first time she truly comprehended what she was about to undertake: she was going to be with Aragorn.

With her face illuminated by a smile that shone from the heart, rather more mischievous than usual, she swept around swiftly lighting the lanterns that rested on the sills of the high elegant windows. Unlike most other elves, Arwen had strayed from silvery-white lamps, instead letting different colours of light pour forth from all sides of the room: blues, purples, sunshine yellow and forest-greens. In the middle of the room they all mingled together to make exquisite mixtures; from one angle more of a lilac hue, resembling the hazy Misty Mountains; but in another light seemingly the cerulean of the calling sea, textures of light shallows and darker sea-life rippling through it; and at another moment reminiscent of the deep, rich woodland realm of Thranduil, where the golden sunlight glimmered on the lofty branches and virulent green grass grew on the thick forest floor.

When Arwen stood in the middle of this continually transforming hue, the iridescent colours that were cast upon her shimmered on the bare skin of her face and hands and made Arwen glow surreally, like a mystical magical being, not dissimilar to a Vala. Filled with amazement Arwen turned over her hands and slowly curled and stretched her fingers, moving about the magical colours of light as if she was holding her dreams in her very hands.

The smiles could not be held back from breaking across her face; Arwen could not stop the pounding of her excited heart, she was so delighted with her fresh idea. The prospect of seeing Aragorn had been mind-blowing at first; but now she was elated, and dormant emotions blazed through her veins such as she had not felt for so many years that she had even forgotten how good it was to experience them. She was filled, from silken head to dainty toe, with quivering anticipation like she had once been centuries ago, when she was a little Elfling on the night before her birthday. She felt as naughty as when she had contrived clever machinations to get her own back on her teasing brothers.

Above all she was overwhelmed with relief; knowing that she would so soon be rejoined with her Ranger lightened the load on Arwen's heart and made her feel so glad to be alive and breathing. She loved him so dearly, even though she was obliged to wait so long between those rare occasions of seeing him. But how wondrous those occasions were, and this time she would not bide her time patiently waiting here like a helpless woman dependent on others; was she not the daughter of Elrond, undoubtedly not without some skill and wisdom? She would take matters assertively into her own hands; she knew she could. Arwen had decided that this time she would make sure that they would have a precious chance to be together again…

While her love for him never dimmed when Aragorn was away from her, no matter for how long, to actually _be_ with him made her broken heart feel whole again, he made her complete, so perfectly happy…

Giggles bubbled out from her, an echo of the waves of emotion Arwen felt when with Aragorn. She knew him so well, even though they had had few opportunities alone and hence had spoken together on few matters. It was as if their hearts and minds were connected, and when she gazed into his grey eyes she could feel him within her. Yet her love was not based on common words alone; in secret she had silently watched him many a time, utterly fascinated by his startlingly attractive figure - so much so that by the time night fell she could bear it no more and shrank to his side, swiftly leading him by the hand behind a pillar or tree and at last in the shadows melting into a secretive kiss on those soft lips, desperate to unfold onto him all her love-

-The delaying was _far_ too unbearable. Arwen dashed over to her wardrobe and flicked through clothes, whipping out a few dresses and undergarments and haphazardly folding them up before squashing them unceremoniously into a saddlebag. She found a travelling pack and filled this with the few remains of food in her little cupboard, but did not bother too much about what it was or how much there was of it, seeing as, assuming Galadriel allowed Arwen to leave, she would make sure that Arwen's companions looked after her and fed her well. She fumbled with the ties on the bags before taking them over to the slender grey-wooden door, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright.

Arwen threw open the door and once more raced up the white ladder, passing many other majestic flets around her in the mallorn's sturdy branches, before she caught sight of the familiar opening in a great floor over her head. She slowed down and stopped, resting a few rungs down from the trapdoor-hole. She made a point of closing her eyes and tried to take command of her unruly breathing. All she had to do was to ask Galadriel with innate meekness and well-deserved respect if she could please be granted leave to journey over the Misty Mountains so that she might visit her Ada in Imladris_, _because she missed him and his peaceful land too profoundly for her spirit to be at rest here in Lórien.

An assemblage of flitting butterflies beleaguered Arwen's stomach. Passing this off was not going to be accomplished easily. Galadriel was as good a mind reader as anyone had ever been. It would take some skill and courage to cozen her… and if the situation took a turn for the worse, if she was suspected, she must not be tempted to look into Galadriel's eyes or all would be revealed… Arwen shrank with humiliation at the mere _thought_ of confronting Galadriel's severe condemnation. _All she had to do was pretend to be very interested in looking at something else in the room._ She took a deep breath. In her mind her voice repeated over and over _you must stay strong _like a mantra while she climbed the ladder.

"_Arwen_…"

So surprise and on edge was she that Arwen nearly slipped off the ladder. She quickly stepped up into the room and tried her best to resurrect her appearance of patent guilt when having been caught in the act of committing a crime. She raised her eyes up to her grandmother, who was standing there by the trapdoor as if she had known all along that Arwen was coming. As Galadriel brought her into an embrace, Arwen wished Galadriel had not also known her thoughts, and prayed to the Valar that Haldir had not betrayed her confidence and already spoken to Galadriel of what had passed that afternoon.

Once she had been released Arwen strove to act normal and smiled as she went to Celeborn who sat on a high carven chair sifting through some thick leaves of parchment, and she kissed his forehead while he put his arm around her.

"It _is_ a long time since you came up here to visit us!" Galadriel laughed softly and left Arwen shivering ever so slightly at the beautiful and magical voice. Although being lovely, it was also rather unearthly.

"Arwen?" Galadriel said, concentrating her gaze on her granddaughter.

Arwen nodded briskly and smiled emphatically, already sensing that her grandmother was trying to reach into her mind. Galadriel's looks were deceptively innocent; her hair fell down to her waist, wavy golden rivers bright as the morning sun. She wore a long white dress, intricately stitched and with tiny glass beads sewn on, which mirrored her dazzling face. She smiled kindly, and with assurance, and in her pale blue eyes there was wisdom; but Arwen was prepared.

"I am fine, _really_," Arwen protested boldly and dared to glance up briefly from reading what Celeborn was writing to Galadriel's face. She knew that look, Arwen was certain. Galadriel was calculating her. She knew something. And now she was going to try to tease confirmation out of her.

"We missed you at dinner this evening," Galadriel stated. Arwen shook a lock of hair out of her eyes and looked up innocently.

"I was taking a walk up the river today and… I was not hungry so I lost track of time." Celeborn laughed and shook his head at Arwen's reply; but it was not him who Arwen feared.

"Did you not see anyone all day?" Galadriel interrogated.

Arwen leaned against Celeborn's chair and ran her fingers over the carvings. After a pause she said, "I met Haldir." Her eyes moved up to Galadriel, and she saw the Lady of the Wood boring her eyes into her. "And we saw the Dúnedain leaving," she conceded against her will.

"Yes, we had the pleasure of their company for lunch today," Celeborn said, oblivious to the battling exchange that he was interrupting. "It was a shame you were not there, Arwen, you would have enjoyed it."

Arwen's eyes were like saucers. "I did not know you were expecting them!" she exclaimed, with no thought to conceal her exceptional shock and dismay.

"Our messengers brought us news of their coming late last night, after you had retired," Galadriel said calmly observing Arwen's state of frustration. "We were going to invite you to the banquet, of course, but you had departed early this morning before we could say."

Arwen was clamping a hand to her forehead, silently raging at the unfairness of the situation. She had come even closer to Aragorn than she had thought before! And then she had lost him again! Her fingers slid their grip slowly down the length of her hair, and she let them press hard into her skin as if trying to pull the raging grief out of her mind.

Now was the time to play her role as daughter over her actual place as lover. An insufferable sigh heaved out of her chest, not entirely contrived, and she trained her eyes to the grey floor.

"They are heading north, towards the land of my father, and it has reminded me of a weight that has been on my mind for some time. It is so long since I was with my Ada and I am sure in my heart that he misses me as much as I miss him. I long to walk with him under the singing birches and talk with him again as we used to. Please, I would like to ask your leave to Imladris."

Her eyes, which had been roaming over the walls of the large hall of their own accord, found themselves back on Galadriel. _Look guiltless,_ she reminded herself, _your reason was perfectly genuine; smile sweetly_. Arwen he had known on previous occasions how eyes could shatter the false impression and give everything away. She relaxed her complexion, softening her eyes, and they shone hopefully in the silvery elven lights.

Immediately Celeborn gave his consent. "Of course, meleth, I wholly understand, you may go as soon as you please, for there is no reason to delay being with your loved ones."

But in spite of her husband's words, Galadriel's eyes were still focussed intently on Arwen, showing no emotion or any sign of agreement so far. Arwen felt herself recoil inside, although she did not physically move, and a sickening fear of anxiety rose up in her. Immediately she felt her face get hot and something started pulsating at the side of her forehead. What had she done wrong? What had she missed? Why was Galadriel not letting her go? _Stop looking at me!_ she heard herself screaming for release inside. Her eyes flew around the room, urgently trying to find distractions.

_Do not think of it,_ she heard herself say, desperately trying to be interested in the faceless black darkness outside a window. _Do not say it, she is listening, do not say…_ Arwen moved her eyes again… _this was not working, not working…! Do NOT say it, DON'T say, don't say – _

_I LOVE ARAGORN!_

Shock that she had given way inundated Arwen from every corner and her eyes flew to Galadriel in fear. Galadriel was looking rather stunned.

"What did you say?" her usually cool voice had a slight quaver in it, and this disturbance panicked Arwen. She was now absolutely terrified of what she had done, and she felt her throat tighten dramatically and make her breathing hurt.

Arwen gave a whimper. "I said nothing," she whispered with a frown. Now it was too late, her mind had gone completely blank and useless. She just wished to get out of the whole situation.

"Arwen said nothing," Celeborn repeated, standing now beside his granddaughter. "My love, why do you have misgivings over this? I see nothing wrong in Arwen travelling to Imladris. She will be accompanied to ensure her safety."

Galadriel appeared not to have heard, unmoved by Celeborn's words. She was still watching her Arwen carefully, but as Celeborn stirred beside her, Arwen had the sense that the impounding heat upon her was dissipating.

"_Galadriel?_" Celeborn called her forcefully, and in confusion strode over to his wife's side.

Now Arwen felt her confidence return, the same acute assurance she felt when Aragorn told her that he loved her, and once more she looked back into Galadriel's eyes. And instead of her grandmother delving inside her thoughts, Arwen felt herself wash into those eyes. She did not black out her mind, nor did she think of anything, she just looked inside, and began to hear, began to feel…

All of a sudden she felt a wave of surprise that was not her own, and she could tell that Galadriel was trying to draw back; and now that Arwen knew she had won their consent, she allowed her grandmother to be released, and she smiled serenely.

"Forgive me, Undómiel," Galadriel said weakly. "…Of course you can go." She smiled at her daughter's child fondly, and Arwen saw the one that she knew and loved back.

"Thank you," she replied appreciatively to each of her grandparents.

In relief Celeborn sighed, also glad to see his wife again, and he turned to arrange the departure with Arwen.

"So that is settled! Now when are you thinking of going, Arwen?"


	5. Starwater

5. Star-water

Arwen breathed out slowly and opened her eyes. She was sitting cross-legged on the floorboards of her flet, her head bowed over a tiny flame she held in cup of her hands. There was no other light; she had blown out her lanterns and had been sitting in the gloom now for some time, waiting and praying.

"Hold on for me, Estel," she murmured. Then she heaved a sigh, wishing Aragorn could hear her, but knowing the bitter truth. _Well_, she thought in minor consolation, _may the Valar light your way, even if it is with the smallest of candles_. She had no idea that the prayer had been far closer to the truth than she would ever know. She blew out the candle.

She wished that Ilúvatar would keep Aragorn safe and help her on her journey to him. She was not naïve and she knew her journey would not be straightforward. They would be departing very soon, once Celeborn had found her three elves who could take her over the mountains. In the meantime, though, Arwen had one last important thing to do.

Resting the candle on the floor, she next picked up a soft bundle by her side. Standing up, its body fell from her fingers, but it was hidden in the nightshade. There was a large bowl of water on the windowsill, into which starlight fell from the dark sky, between the leaves of the towering mallorn trees. It shimmered beautifully, the very light seeming to ripple the surface and reveal a silvery white glow from within the clear liquid. Arwen drew near.

She smiled and thought of what she was to do. She held the material in the shaft of light. It was a dark cloak, which was long enough to completely cover her body, right down to the floor, and it also had a hood which when worn descended over her entire face, and no one could see through…

Arwen folded the cloak and carefully brought the brimming water-bowl into the centre of the white light. She waited until the water stilled and then closed her eyes.

Her purpose was to create star-water, a secret elven enchantment. Only her kindred could make it, and no other race knew about it. She had not done magic of this kind before, but she remembered her friend and guard Kelmeleth had once mentioned to her about the power of star-water. She could not quite recollect what it could do, and only a few days before she had asked him about it again.

Kelmeleth often liked talking to Arwen and she enjoyed his company too. He was always pleased to help her in any way he could, and he always would comfort her if she was succumbing to despair. She had not revealed to many people about her choice to bind herself to Aragorn's heart, for fear that Elrond or Galadriel would find out and ensure that she would never encounter him again. But she did trust Kelmeleth, who she was close to in Lorien, and she had betrayed to him some degree of her feelings for Aragorn. He had listened to her carefully and showed understanding rather than scorn, and had never once doubted the depth of her love. While all other elves who had an inkling of her position were saddened and tried repeatedly to dissuade her to save her immortality, Kelmeleth was the only one who would stay her tears and remind her of the happy times she would one day share with Aragorn.

And Kelmeleth had taught her about star-water, inadvertently inspiring her to pursue Aragorn on this occasion. She brought back his words from her memory.

"_You wish to make star-water Arwen? What for? I wonder! But no, do not fear… I will tell you…_

"_You need clean, clear water, in a worthy vessel. You must have full starlight shining down on it, and no other light, mind you, or this will not work. A faint pearly shimmer should be in the water, sifting itself through the liquid; but remember it is not real, in actual substance form – able to be touched. But you will see it. Do not disturb the water, or the starlight within will fade._

"_And most importantly, Arwen - without this star-water would never come to be - you need the breath of an immortal to be blown onto it. Stars like crystals will appear where the warm breath settled, and from them, silver swirling mists will form. When they finally part, you will see the floating stars fall down and forever live in the water. In daylight it will shimmer, and at night you will be able to see those tiny pinpricks of pure light within._

"_This star-water will do many enchantments for the elf who bears it, but it will never do the same thing twice. But if you have strong hope within you when you breathe into the basin, then maybe, just maybe it will aid you with what you desire._

"_For immortal breath is of the highest value in Eä, and the light of the stars is the most beautiful that the elves this side of the Great Sea have ever seen. Thus they have bound themselves together in this magic of the most ancient days._

"_Ai! I am so sorry to say my lady, that as you bind yourself more to Aragorn, and the years pass and you share the happiest love, your power in the water will fade, as you will too. I am sorry, Arwen, I really am…"_

A cloud of fear settled in Arwen's mind and she hurriedly tried to push it away. She did not want to think of that time… it was, at least for now, far away. But Aragorn was not…!

She lifted her intent eyes up to the twinkling stars way above her. Their light seemed to touch the very cool air in front of her, before seeping through the water at her hands.

Well there it was, glimmering just as Kelmeleth said it should. All that was left was for her to breathe.

She gazed into the watery depths, losing trace of every thought; save one. _Help me reach Aragorn,_ she pleaded,_ please, cover me with your mists, hide me from unfriendly eyes, let me fade into the night._

She took a breath of fresh air, _Please, hide me in twilight, so I may love my Aragorn… please…_ And she breathed out.

Arwen watched, transfixed, at her warm breath shivering through the cool night air. It seemed to hover just above the surface of the water for a few seconds before dipping inwards. Ripples began to run out towards the rim of the bowl and strange clouds like the depth of nightshade fell down and glided round in circles, quickly but gracefully, concealing any movement from within. They spun faster and faster, and more waves spread out from the smooth imprint floating on the top.

Arwen leant over the water, as close as she could with out touching the water. She searched this way and that, straining to see what might be happening inside. The haze was becoming more and more confusing, constantly shifting over the small gaps to the region of clear water, flicking its colours between navy blue and pale silver, as if trying to mesmerise her. The speed was considerably more now, and the film it acted as was thicker than any sea-fog had ever been. It seemed impossible that anything would be revealed at all.

Then just as Arwen was about to draw away, the mist slowed down calmly and faded out of all existence. Then it appeared as if silver rain was sprinkling the bowl of water, and Arwen looked up curiously, to find that tiny stars were falling down like handfuls of glitter from the bright stars so far away in the sky.

She was amazed, and blinked a few times to check that it really was true. Still stunned, she slowly lifted up a cupped hand and reached into the shower. A single star fell onto her first finger and vanished. Arwen felt a soft tingling sensation and she examined her fingertip. The star had left no visible trace, but as she touched it she felt a rush soar from that finger through her veins to the rest of her body, as if she was suddenly empowered. The feeling was exhilarating.

With a smile playing on her lips Arwen now looked at the water. And as the veil of stars fell away, she felt all breath taken from inside her. For there in the bowl were the most beautiful stars she knew.

They shone very brightly – fresh from the starry heavens – and subtly lit up the whole vessel of water. Creamy streams drifted like small lanes, the stars like tiny houses – villages of light living within her own water. For sure this was elven magic. A soft wind blew through the window and made the water tremble. The silver lights flashed on and off, winking at Arwen above them.

Arwen smiled broadly now – she was so happy that she had made her star-water, yet at the same time she could barely believe it. With the adrenaline coursing through her body she picked up her cloak, pressing the velvety material between her fingers. Then she carefully lowered it onto the star-water, and let it slip beneath the surface until it sank in altogether.

The cloth wavered in the motion of the liquid and then settled at the bottom. Arwen did not know what would happen, but she guessed that she would see some sort of change in the star-water.

She rested her head in her hand, leaning on the window sill so she could stare down at the silvery water, but no matter how keenly she looked or how long she waited… nothing happened.

Arwen wondered if the star-water did indeed have any properties save exceptional beauty. She stirred and dipped her hands into the cool water; her patience had run out.

Her fingers closed around the wet cloak and she pulled it slowly out to hold it over the bowl and allow much of the water to drain off. As the drips receded, she turned it round to hold it up the right way. But to her shock she found that the material was already completely dry.

She caught her breath and ran to another window so that she could hold it without the cloak falling in the star-water. Indeed there was no trail of water left and this bewildered Arwen greatly. What sort of power was this?

Suddenly something glistened momentarily, but it caught Arwen's eyes. She peered at the deep blue cloak, trying to find what it was she had noticed. It had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and there was no trace of it left on the patch of the cloak where she had thought she had seen it.

It was then that she noticed something in the very thread of the cloak. Instead of just being a dark navy blue colour, it seemed to be flowing with liquid, as if it was being held in a river at twilight. If she moved the material slightly, ripples seemed to run along the strands weaved together, and the tiny wave peaks were caught in some strange soft light.

And as Arwen held it in front of her, wondering whether she could still see the water inside, she realised that there were very small dots of white on the cloak, as small as the stars up in the midnight sky. They would flash and fade, and then re-shine somewhere else in another thread, altogether giving her cloak a fair and mystical appearance.

Arwen smiled and hugged the soft cloak to her chest. This was her cloak of twilight, and it was sent to her from the Valar so that she could at last follow her Aragorn in secret.


	6. Stirring

6. Stirring

There was a hard knock on Arwen's door followed by a loud voice.

"Arwen, mely; are you in there?"

She turned round quickly and hurriedly folded up her starry cloak. She put the bowl of star-water under a chair in the shadows.

"Yes, I'm just coming," she called, recognising her grandfather's voice. She ran to her two saddle bags, the cloak pinned under her arm, while Celeborn cautiously opened the door.

"There you are now, all ready to go. Here, let me take these." He held out his hands and Arwen willingly passed him the bags, relieved that she would not have to go down the ladder carrying them. However Celeborn climbed down the white steps with much ease and Arwen was quite shocked he did not stumble once, or get tangled up in the bags like she usually would.

At the bottom of the mallorn tree they met Haldir, talking to two of the guards (the third must have wandered off somewhere). He smiled welcomingly as the couple approached.

"Haldir has kindly helped me to find you some elves to travel with," Celeborn explained, with Haldir accepting one of the saddle bags from his Lord.

"Yes, I have found you four companions, Arwen." He talked as they left the lawn and began to walk down the darkened lanes between the white-glowing trees. "I know you would normally have a girl to be with, but I am afraid you will have to make do with four men this time. Not that you mind, of course," he added at the end, grinning at Arwen. She also was beaming, but mainly still from the rain of star-water and her twilight cloak, which she was pleased no one had yet noticed.

"First there is Rúmil, my brother, who I am sure you have met. As you know he is a very skilled bowman. Then there is Lirë who will be the one leading you over the Misty Mountains. It was after choosing these two that I became stuck for who else could come."

He paused and they walked in silence for a while. Arwen did not mind that there no other female elves with her, even though she knew she usually would. This was because she knew deep down that if she had any close friends with her it would break her heart to leave them. She would not be able to bear knowing that they were worried sick, looking for her in vain – even thinking she might be dead. No! no _no,_ thank goodness she would not have to go through all that.

Haldir started to speak again. "So I went through our city looking and asking for someone who wanted to come, and was able-bodied and of course, very pleasant. I then remembered Alquaran, and he was pleased to help us. And then, whilst wandering along the northern outskirts and thinking of giving up and going back to the centre of Caras Galadhon, guess who came bounding up to me?"

Arwen looked at him in faint surprise, already taken back by Alquaran.

"Why, it was Kelmeleth!"

Arwen swallowed painfully and tears watered in her eyes. Not Kelmeleth, no, that just was not fair. She had forgotten about him, not that she didn't like him, but just that most of her friends _were_ girls. It was not really that wonted that boys were friends with girls, not unless there were about three or four of each.

But it was so different being friends with Kelmeleth compared to all her other friendships. She didn't have to watch what she said around him, she didn't have to do things she found boring with him, she didn't have to keep secrets from him. They got on perfectly, like jam with scones, and Arwen felt so relaxed with him. They had little squabbles – that was normal – but most of the time they would talk and laugh whilst doing the simple things which they both enjoyed – like picking fruit or going riding through Lórien for a day with a picnic. There were things so close to her heart which she could tell Kelmeleth with no shame, but she would never tell them to any other elf.

But now -; what was she to do? Would she have to vanish and leave him to think she had fallen off a cliff, or to tell him that she had tricked them all with a lie and say it was all so that she could be with Aragorn. Oh, it was so difficult. Either way she would feel horrible – sounding selfish if she told him or feeling selfish if she didn't. Arwen almost felt like screaming with internal agony, and she could sense her face was burning like chilli fire.

And Alquaran; she knew he had had a crush on her! What was wrong here!

She sighed heavily and saw that they had come to the elves' stables. As they rounded the corner Arwen saw a little group surrounding some horses, and as it parted Kelmeleth leapt forward, smiling joyfully at seeing her, and bringing her trotting horse by the reigns too.

"Arwen!" He threw his arms round her, Celeborn looking on slightly disapprovingly, but she immediately felt comforted by his friendly face. He was actually quite a good-looking elf, with bright eyes, a clear face and hazel brown hair with blonde streaks, and as his name suggested, he stole many elf-maidens' hearts and deepest loves. Unfortunately, Kelmeleth felt he could not be with any of them, saying he would be able to tell when his 'one' came along. This Arwen had always found funny, and even more the way in which he reacted when he was flattered.

"Did you think you could go without me?" he laughed, a high and clear sound, and his eyes shone dazzlingly at her. "Come on! I have Ninniach ready for you." Arwen's white stallion proudly neighed at the sound of his name and jumped on his front legs impatiently.

Kelmeleth took Arwen's hand and led her to him. The elf lifted her up and she sat down on the soft saddle gracefully. She watched him keenly as he fastened the saddle bags on, and also Rúmil, Alquaran and Lirë as they brought their black and chestnut horses over. Rúmil also had Kelmeleth's Túlisle, who was looking very smart to Arwen, as she had seen just the kind of things Kelmeleth got him to do sometimes. She managed to avoid Alquaran's eye-gaze.

As Rúmil and Haldir were rapidly talking of last-minute plans in hushed, urgent voices, Kelmeleth walked over to Celeborn. Celeborn did not realise that his expression showed his small dislike and annoyance at him, treating his granddaughter just like a normal girl. But Kelmeleth had seen it, and actually found it rather amusing. Still smiling merrily, he spoke to his Lord.

"Captain Celeborn," he said, the 'captain' more to get his attention interested, yet still giving him the respect he clearly wanted, "Please do not worry of having me in the company of your granddaughter. I will guard her every minute of day or night, and I will fight to my death to save her, if necessary, of course." He drew out a little knife at such speed and at such proximity to Celeborn's nose that he stepped back, startled. But it had the desired effect over him. He smiled at the younger and more tanned elf before him.

"If you are with her, then I will have no need to fear for many days then." He winked at Kelmeleth, who inclined his head slightly and move off towards his fidgeting Túlisle. He was trying to look noble and sensible, but it made him chuckle and, trying to suppress it, gave him very odd jittery movements. Arwen was smiling at the sight and having the same problems at staying quiet, but still looking rather more normal than Kelmeleth.

Rúmil mounted his horse at the same time, and Celeborn looked at the five of them with favour.

"Arwen, have a wonderful time with your father. You deserve every amount of happiness to receive. Just remember though, I will be watching for my special star every evening." He came forward and kissed Arwen's smooth hand. She smiled softly back at him.

The elves spurred their horses and Arwen followed suit. They moved off very quickly, but at the end of the road she slowed down a little, and turned to see them again.

"Namárië!" she called, "Farewell!"

"Fare you safe and well, Undómiel!" Haldir called back to her. "Maybe we shall see you here again soon. Maybe we shall yet. Farewell!"

The two elves raised their hands in parting, and Arwen smiled once more, before taking her eyes off them and chasing after Kelmeleth down the dim lane.

Looking back on their progress in that night, Arwen found everything slid into one black blur, and she could not remember much at all.

It had not taken them long to ride down to the City Gates, but even so once they had passed over the white bridge they travelled far quicker. Arwen went in the middle of the party, with Kelmeleth always just behind her. The trees were all very close together, but they managed to maintain their horses' galloping by going along in a line, with Lirë at the front watching out for all the trees magically springing out of the gloom. There were no lights in the depth of the forest, but if Arwen kept her eyes on the horse in front of her own Ninniach, then she had no worries and just steered exactly after him.

There was no sound for a long while apart from the horses' hooves beating against the hard earth, and it was impossible to talk while rushing at that speed – for all sound was lost in the stinging air and Arwen would have been likely to crash into an innocent-looking dull grey tree if she had tried to look at Kelmeleth.

She was quite content though to keep up the galloping, and she loved the feeling of the strong air in her face, brushing her long hair out after her like a river. The freshness in it woke her up fully, and she felt very eager and extremely happy to think she was coming nearer and nearer to Aragorn.

But after two hours went by, and all the riders were lost in deep thought, the wind picked up rapidly on all sides, and all five of the elves had their own hair strewn over their faces and tickling their nostrils. Arwen was irritated with the gusts blasting into both ears, especially as it happened at the same time, and resulted in shaking her head all over the place, as if to shake all the disobedient air out. This actually made the situation worse for her, and along with her hair whipping her bare cheeks fiercely and criss-crossing over her eyes, she received a bunch of hair into her open mouth, immediately spitting it out and scraping it off her tongue with her teeth. But she soon ended up in the same place after laughing at what she knew Kelmeleth's reaction to seeing her in this unusual state would be.

Gradually the trees became more spread out and they were able to ride closer next to each other. The weather however did not improve, and although it was an hour and a half before sunrise, the land around the elves seemed to be growing darker and the shadows of the plants lingered in the air, altogether making it much colder and miserable.

Way above through the waning leaves Arwen could see black clouds drift slowly over, and then not move anymore. She felt less high in spirits and found herself wishing she had brought along another cloak she could hurriedly wrap round herself, for she did not want to try her twilight cloak on in the company of anyone else, certainly not for the first time at least.

Arwen then realised that they had passed out of Lothlórien, but the dimness had prevented her from seeing it before. Looking back, her hair becoming even more tangled, she could just about see an even darker patch behind them than the murkiness that hollered around them. Up in front, Lirë gave a loud high cry, which only just found its way through the buffeting wind and into Arwen's pointy ears. She slowed Ninniach down, who she could feel relax gratefully, and she could sense the two elves behind do the same. She stroked his soft neck, gleaming even through the darkness, and he twitched his ears, as if to thank her.

Their pace now a steady trot, Arwen could feel that the cold night wind was a little less bitter, but she could also hear very clearly the hissing of the long dry grasses under the horses' skipping hooves. The rhythm much slower, Arwen found herself being lulled sleepily into dazed dreams. She felt so drowsy she was almost dizzy, and she tried blinking every few seconds, also trying to shake herself awake. Arwen felt so relieved when she heard Lirë's clear voice call out again.

"Aurë utúlië!" Day has come! Arwen smiled gratefully and saw a soft faint light behind in the east, feebly coming through the storm-clouds, but still there. "Ôl Arwen?" The thought of sleep was like heaven to her, and her own voice pierced the thickening air in great agreement to Lirë.

He stopped his chestnut horse and the others settled around him, the horses snorting heavily and the riders feeling slightly odd at the lack of bouncing motion.

Rúmil quickly lit a candle, which gave a surprising amount of light, and he looked around them, before hopping down.

"I think it is wise if we sleep during the day and ride in the night, for once we are on the mountain there are orcs which, even though we will be under snow tunnels, may catch sight of us; particularly when we first travel up the slopes." He jumped of his horse. "Yes, this land seems firm and flat enough to me. We will be hidden amongst the grass, especially with our cloaks."

Arwen wobbly climbed down and fumbled with a buckle on one of her saddle bags. It seemed rather impossible in the gloom however, and being exhausted didn't help.

"Here," Alquaran handed Arwen a candle and undid the bag strap for her. She thought it was very kind of him considering, and smiled softly at him as he left her. She got her own small lantern out and quickly struck it, before she took the saddle off Ninniach, and then his harness. He nuzzled lovingly against her arm, and she kissed his warm muzzle, thanking him quietly for his speed and strength.

Then, as he set himself down on the ground next to Túlisle, Arwen too collapsed into the grass and pulled her twilight cloak out, not caring much now about what happened, just wanting to be warm. But just then, Kelmeleth came over and knelt down beside her, the twilight cloak hidden on her lap.

"Would you like some Lembas? You must be hungry, and I did make it myself," he asked her hopefully. Arwen smiled wearily and took the sweet bread from his outstretched hand.

"Thank you," she whispered, realising the three other elves had already lain down, even though they may be munching themselves. "It's really good."

Kelmeleth's face was hidden in shadow, but she could sense he was very pleased she liked it. "And," he said, still in a hushed voice, "did you remember your water?"

Arwen sighed tiredly. No she hadn't, and she did not feel at all like being annoyed while she was this sleepy.

"Arwen, don't worry!" Kelmeleth was surprised at her depression and felt a bit bad. "Arwen, I know you! I brought some extra, just in case." He gently placed a bottle by her and rose, walking silently to his own grass-hollow.

Arwen felt very thankful and, finishing the bread and taking gulps of the cool soothing water, she shook her cloak, scattering the crumbs all around. Then, lying down cosily under the grass, she brought the cloak, impossible to see in the poor light, down over all of her body. She snuggled under the hem, and bringing her toes up to her warmer body, sighed contentedly before floating into peaceful slumber.


	7. A Storm is Coming

7. A Storm is Coming

Aragorn looked away from the warm log fire and glanced up at the chilly night sky. It was very dark now, an endless black void, and it was cold and unwelcoming. He could see one by one the evening stars disappearing behind thick bands of cloud, and even the moon had become a grey tinge feebly probing the strong screen over it. There was also a gusty wind, which had begun to pick up very quickly. The tents were billowing and the flames were flickering. Now most people were resting in their tents for as long as they could get, with only the younger ones, including Aragorn, left up around the fire.

The dozen or so had been talking alone for a while and songs had also been called for, to cheer away the bitter gloom. All were gladly received, and most of his friends had sung a ballad or two, even Halbarad (who did not usually like to sing in front of others), all about drunken inns and foolish adventures. Everyone had laughed when Halbarad had finished, he giving a last demonstration of how to fall over spectacularly when one had consumed far too much ale that was good for him. Aragorn chuckled and watched Halbarad hurry away from the leaping flames, having toppled almost into the camp fire and scorched the ends of his hair. He smiled and looked away into the darkness around their ring of light.

"Aragorn! You sing something now! Aragorn!" His eyes darted back and found his friends' happy faces eagerly urging him on.

"No…" he muttered, "maybe not." He got up and made to walk away, but two strong arms pulled him back down on both sides.

"You stay right where you are," Calosin grinned at him and watched him wriggle uncomfortably.

"Sing!" some others chorused, "Sing! Sing!"

"It is definitely your turn, Aragorn," Halbarad mumbled beside him, unhappily inspecting his damaged hair.

"Please! Any song!" The shouts continued to be directed at him and grew steadily louder.

"Ok, ok," Aragorn relented and sighed nervously. "Um, let me just think of one." As the uprising faded Aragorn tried to remember a good song. A song which was lively and would bring happy memories. In fact, any song at all.

But his mind had gone blank. He squirmed even more and felt butterflies pulsate within him. He had never liked to sing in front of other people, and it made him feel very uneasy. He loved singing if nobody else was with him, or he was unlikely to meet anyone, and he actually had quite a good voice. He just felt very bare and found that the human voice touched deep places which other sounds could not. He had never wanted to sing to other people, and he was very positive that he never would. Self-confidence was something which Aragorn lacked in great quantity here, and he would even prefer to fight some evil orcs than to sing.

He looked around the circle. Everyone was waiting and watching him with earnest. It did not help his conscience to hear Calosin chortling to himself nearby. Aragorn swallowed.

"Er…" So, he would have to sing one of his own songs. He often made up poems and beautiful melodies to fit with them, but quite a lot of them were extremely unacceptable to sing to his friends. There was only one really which he could let his friends hear. It was still private, but if he improvised on a few words and changed the view to being from somebody else, there was just a possibility that they would not realise the Man was actually him.

Aragorn wobbly stood up and fumbled with his hands, before he gradually came to be still, and relatively calm (in the eyes of his friends anyway). Even the sniggers from Calosin came to a halt.

He gazed into the fire and closed his eyes, picturing himself a long time ago in a fair, distant land.

_There once was a man called Estel_

_Who loved to roam through Rivendell_

_But oft he left and rode away_

_Where he proved he bore a sword well_

_His spirit's fire was pure and strong_

_His healing hands never went wrong_

_His face was fair and his eyes soft_

_A young brave man in tales and songs_

_Yet to the elves he did return_

_As for their peace his heart did yearn_

_But one warm twilight he did see_

_A maiden who made his heart turn_

_Tinúviel! Tinúviel!_

_Lest she should go fear he did feel_

_But, he melting at her deep eyes_

_She said she was Undómiel_

_The birches sang with their grey leaves_

_Her hair was caught in sudden breeze_

_And whilst knowing from whence she came_

_He desired everything to freeze_

_But lo! she spoke of many years_

_And seemed young, this brought many fears_

_Then she spoke of her Eldar light_

_Abashed he saw that this was clear_

_And from then on he loved Arwen_

_Even though she had life elven_

_And it seemed that his aim was like_

_That of Beren and Lúthien_

_Then in love Estel went away_

_And still he wanders to this day_

_His heart bound to hers won't be swayed_

_And 'Arwen' he will always say_

Aragorn finished the last note and quietly sight to himself. He missed Arwen so much. He loved everything about her; her face, her eyes, her smiles, her laughs, her gaze, her touch, her knowledge, her peace, her gentleness, her kiss, her hope…

She had always believed in him, even if he had not in himself, and he had felt so moved by this. He knew he must seem as a yearling shoot next to a young birch of many summers, and that she must forsake her immortality to love him, but he was so deeply in love with her; and he also knew her heart. They had met seven years ago and there had shown their love for each other. Arwen did love him, more than anything else in Arda, or in Valinor, or anything Ilúvatar had created. She had bound herself to his heart, and Aragorn had given his heart to her.

When they had first met, like in his song, he had felt something he never had before. It was like the highest rush of happiness there could ever be, and he only saw Arwen, just her, and he could sense his own need for her and his desire for her to be in his arms. Aragorn realised he loved her, and he knew that nothing would change his heart. Never. He had fallen in love with the most beautiful lady to walk the earth, and he knew her eyes and he felt her glance. He had always hoped, hope beyond hope, that she loved him too, that he was not too low for her, unimportant, weak and not fair enough to please her eyes. He knew he would be nothing without her, no hope, no love, just an empty shell.

But secretly in his heart, Aragorn had believed that such love as he felt could not just be one-sided. He trusted his and he was convinced that she had felt the same, that the love he had felt was what he saw in her face, and that she saw it in his, and that she had set heart upon his, like he had on hers. Yet still he had the darkest, deepest fear that Arwen did not, and that he was alone, and tricked, made to look a fool and be laughed at by the elves and dismissed by Men. The pain would kill him.

But the love was true. What he had seen under the twilight was real, and Arwen really did love him, and she needed his heart. She had melted at his face, and he was ready to catch her. He would always be there for his Evenstar. Their love would always hold. Always.

Aragorn breathed out shakily and looked up. His friends all seemed to still be in a trance, moved by the song and holding onto the words.

"Aragorn?" Emathar called him softly, "Aragorn, that was amazing. Where did you learn that song?" The others looked at him too, all murmuring similar comments. "Aragorn, you sing so well. Why have you not sung before? And you know such magical songs," Halbarad praised him and hummed some of the tune again.

"I did it," Aragorn replied, feeling slightly unnerved. It was just not right that people enjoyed his singing voice. He had never thought he had hit notes perfectly. "I wrote the words and I made the melody. It's from a… a tale. A story. But it is true."

His friends all smiled and were shocked that he had made the song. "You will have to sing for us again tomorrow," Halbarad laughed, "love stories always help. Songs about ale-consumed men and queer inns do have their limits." He stared into the fire, falling into silence. "Love does not," he added after, more to himself than anybody else. Everyone stayed round the log fire, quietly losing themselves in thought. Everything was silent except from the wind blowing among them and rustling in the still night.

Aragorn came back out of his recollections of the evening and rose up. "It is time we set off," he said, breaking the stillness. His friends all looked up. "The sky is now very dark. We must leave in no more than fifteen minutes." He smiled gently then walked away, taking a burning branch from the fire. He could hear shouts going throughout the camp, spreading the news that they were moving off and needed to pack. Tents were folded up and placed in bags, uneaten food was stowed away, the fire was put out with water and lanterns were lit. Gradually a group began to form where the tents used to be.

Aragorn gathered hi rucksack and cloak from near where the cinders of the campfire were. He gave orders to Calosin and Halbarad, who together managed to bring all the men to Aragorn and have them all noiseless.

"My friends," Aragorn called out, "we will now set off again for our night's march. Do not worry; your need for sleep will be quenched when the herald of day comes. But for now, we must go. Stay close to the cliffs of the mountain, where we may be concealed in even thicker darkness. And please, try to go quietly – only talk in low voices. The mountain may have many ears. We must travel unnoticed."

He nodded to Halbarad and Calosin, who began to guide the Rangers up the first slopes. Aragorn himself waited until the last man had left. Emathar was at the back, and he passed Aragorn a lantern. He raised it to look back at the land where they had shortly rested. There was barely a trace left on the ruffled grass, swaying in the uneven wind in time to a disturbed rhythm. The flattened patches did not matter – the grass was often sparse, and anyway, the lengths were very irregular and in messy tustles.

Aragorn turned back and for a while watched the small lamps ahead flickering in and out of sight behind Rangers' bodies. But as the air around them started to get thicker and harder for light to penetrate through, Aragorn left Emathar helping those at the rear of the party, and he sprinted to the front, the candle in his lantern quivering violently.

He joined Halbarad and then led the Rangers through the rest of the night, guiding them safely up the ancient road. As the power of the wind increased, the temperature decreased, and the men all pressed nearer to each other for shelter, wishing that the gust came from the opposite direction and leave them untouched by the protection of the mountain. The sky above was very dark by about two hours before dawn. It seemed impossible to Aragorn that the sun would ever pierce the menacing clouds and bring light and warmth to the day.

But an hour later, he did see a distant yellow glow in the east, struggling to reach the cold and bare mountain slopes. And by the time the sun rose her fiery head above the far eastern lands, all the Rangers were fast asleep, and hidden under a long cliff, thrown into shadows to seem like mere rocks to the few morning birds that flew over the barren ridge.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arwen woke up suddenly and to the sound of a distressed voice. Her eyes snapped open and for a moment she was surprised to see the grey grass-stalks and tangled roots right by herself. She relaxed as she remembered where she was, and that it must be evening again. She could hear the vicious wind swiping at everything on the land, and also the purring of rain. She felt the water-drops landing on her cloak and next rolling off, while she was dry and now very warm inside.

Then she tensed again, and a hand flew to her face. How could she see the grass whilst the cloak was over her? It was impossible. But she could touch the soft material just ahead of her eyes. How strange. That really did not make sense. Well, maybe it was just the angle of light.

Settling for this answer, Arwen wriggled around in her grass-cavern and pulled her cloak about, trying to bring the actual hood over her face without getting up.

There was another worried call in the air, and Arwen heard it fly over her in the angry wind. She sat up, anxious, and trying to figure out what it was saying. Most of the words was lost in the howls but she could just about hear what it said: "Arwen! Where are you?" She looked around, confused, tying her cloak around her small body tightly and trying to see who was wanting her.

About fifty metres away she could see her companions sitting around a small fire being fed by the dry grass from near the soil. All of the horses were bunched together to keep warm, as close to the flickering fire as the elves would allow them.

But Arwen also saw another figure, one who was standing very prominent in the soaking rain, his dark outline showing he had his hands to his head, probably wiping the dripping hair out of his blinking eyes.

"Arrrrwennnn!" he yelled out into the wind, turning round in a circle as he did so, "Arrrwennnnnn? Arrrrwenn?" It sounded like Kelmeleth, well mostly, seeing as the air currents distorted his voice until it sounded hiccupy and hoarse.

She sat up on her knees in order that he would catch sight of her. Before she finished doing her cloak up she felt for the bottle he had give her last night, and kept it in one of her hands, dripping from all the rain.

"Here!" she shouted, hoping it would reach his ears and not be waylaid by the wind. The elf appeared to hear something for he turned to face Arwen's rough direction, but then he just asked, "Are you therrre?"

"Kel-mel-eth!" she cried out, straightening her back so that her shoulders and head were way above the grass seeds but she was still quite sheltered. She watched puzzled as he stumbled forward head on into the wind, rushing as fast as he could, but missing her by a long way. She could see his panicked face, and his troubled eyes flickering nervously. She could not understand why he could not see her; it was not as if it was the depth of night, pitch black everywhere. The sun could only have gone down an hour ago – there was still an orange tint on the angry westerly clouds.

"Arwen!" he screamed, with such a note of terror that she stood up, dropping the bottle, and hurried towards him a few paces, stopping about four metres from him. She was deeply concerned. Was someone hurt? Had they been attacked? "Kelmeleth? I'm here." She hoped he was alright.

He turned suddenly to face her, his visage pale with worry. "Is that you, Arwen?"

He struggled to her, but his eyes were not focused on her own, yet looking past her blankly. "Are you there, Arwen?"

He stopped just in front of her, but looked around Arwen, not at her. There was a huge puff of wind in the midst of the heavy rain, and she watched him drag his sopping wet hair off his face. His mouth was slightly open and his eyebrows were pressed into a frightened frown. Arwen was sure he looked at her a few times, but he did not seem to realise it. Maybe he had been poisoned.

"I'm here," she said again, calmly, hoping her would realise it was her.

"Arwen, I can't see you!" She then realised that maybe even though she could see through her hood he could not. Infact, he probably had no idea who she was.

Arwen lifted her hands up and pulled her hood back off her face and received a surge of wet air on her left cheek. As she blinked against the thick stream of water she felt her cloak fall off her, despite she had tied the inside up. But it did not fly away onto the damp grass, rather it blew gently into her hands. Amazed, she looked up at Kelmeleth. He did not move for a second, and then he must have registered it was her. He laughed loudly, grinning broadly, and leapt forward, hugging Arwen tightly. She did not understand her friend at all, but she was very pleased he was now back to normal.

"Arwen, where have you been?" He held her out in front of him, smiling at her dripping complexion. Arwen felt completely perplexed.

"I have just been here. Why?"

"Arwen," he said, raising his eyebrows, "where have you been?"

She sighed – what was he getting at?

"I was asleep, just over there. You woke me up." Kelmeleth looked at her strangely. "What?" She really did not comprehend what he was implying of her. She wasn't lying.

"Arwen; I have been looking for you for ages. You have only appeared now. Where had you gone?"

Arwen gazed at him in despair. She had been here!

"Kelmeleth! Why are you saying this? You know I would always tell you the truth. Why do you accuse me of this? Please…" She bit her lip and watched him closely.

He sighed heavily and looked down at the ground. His face became hidden by his windswept hair. "I'm sorry, Arwen. I didn't mean to get so angry."

She lifted his chin up and searched his eyes. "Please Arwen," he said, bending under her deep blue eyes, "please, don't; but you really were not here."

Arwen ran her eyes over the grass and towards the place where she slept, with the saddle bags, harness and bottle still lying there. This was so strange. He should have spotted her a long time ago. She looked up at the black sky. There was a pale white glow among the array of raging storm-clouds, just a little hint to where the moon lay hidden.

Was it her cloak then? Did it blend her in with the night sky, when far above it was the twilight it had set under? She wondered, the wind blowing her hair playfully. Was she just to seem part of the night, sprinkled with stars?

"Arwen?" she turned, and found those big innocent child-like eyes looking at her. "Arwen, I don't understand, but –"

"Don't worry, Kelmeleth." She smiled at him kindly and squeezed one of his hands. "Don't think about it. I don't understand either."

She glanced away and heard Kelmeleth mumble something to himself, which was lost in the whistling wind, but then he strolled off towards the other elves, Arwen only catching part of a song he was humming. She watched him, smiling, hoping that she really could be camouflaged into the night. Then she too walked over to her saddle bags, with the twilight cloak hanging over her right arm, limp, damp, and unnoticed.


	8. Flurry to Frenzy

8. Flurry to Frenzy

Soon Arwen's elf-party moved on from where they had halted for the night, and started to ride up to the mountain's first slopes. She had wrapped up warmly, with more dresses on under her cloak, and she was very glad she did not have to carry her own lantern and get freezing fingers in the process. She rode Ninniach alongside Kelmeleth on Túlisle, and he held a lantern for them both. The other three elves rode ahead of them, Rúmil and Alquaran carrying lights too. In a couple of hours they would have to start searching for the hidden entrance to the elven path, but for now Arwen could talk freely.

"Do you know anything to cheer me up?" Kelmeleth asked her. She frowned and looked at him.

"Why? What's the matter?" she replied, hoping it was not that he had some how found out that she was going to leave him soon. Actually, it would have to be this evening. Tonight! That was much closer than she had anticipated. She had not realised it would be so soon. She felt herself cringe inside with a few nerves.

"Oh, nothing's wrong, it's just I'm freezing cold and stuck out here in the middle of nowhere in the pouring rain with howling winds and about to go up a snow-covered mountain." He grinned and turned towards Arwen. She smiled at his good-natured spirit.

"Sorry, you didn't have to come." She didn't say she sort of wished he had not.

"Ha! You think I would have stayed at my watch on the Wall? No way! To have you go off and leave me there alone, no! It's much better to come out on a little adventure like this, despite the measly weather." Arwen looked back ahead, at the dark figures in front. They seemed to be tilted slightly to one side, by the wind most probably, and the rain was really falling thickly now. It made it look like they were riding through a deep fog reaching its long fingers out to touch them. Not very nice, Arwen thought.

"Why do you have such a long hood, Arwen? I can't see your face." Kelmeleth's question made her jump, and she certainly did not want to tell him why her hood covered her fair face. The other elves ahead might hear, and her answer would certainly give it away that she was leaving them (well, going to try at least). She would have to make certain that they were out of earshot before she told Kelmeleth.

Therefore Arwen decided to ignore this question.

"Do you want that story, then?" she said, hoping he would forget his query.

"Ok, just as long as it isn't a fairytale-like one," he answered, whistling a little tune.

Arwen searched herself for anything. She could tell him something that had happened to her, or something that had happened when she had been with Kelmeleth. They were usually funny. She then remembered one and decided to re-tell it to him.

"I have one, but you should remember it already," she told him. "I think it's good anyway. It is not very long, so if you do not like it that doesn't really matter." Kelmeleth nodded, meaning for her to continue.

"Alright, hmmm, it was my birthday; I can't remember which. And we were sitting on that rock near the silver waterfall, you know, which we get to by walking along the fallen tree?"

"Yes, over Nimrodel, yes, I know where you mean. We used to go there quite a lot."

"Mmmm; so we were both sitting there, and you were plaiting my hair with some blue butterfly ribbons. We were talking about Aragorn, and how I wished he was there for my birthday. It was such a sunny day and I had such wonderful ideas of what we could do there. You thought some of the ideas were quite silly though!"

"What, like sailing in a little boat and then falling out accidentally-on-purpose so that he dives in and rescues you! That was hilarious! Did you realise that your dress would go all clingy and stick right against your skin? Then what would Aragorn think!"

"Shut up!" Arwen laughed, and leaned over to hit him playfully on his arm. "Excuse me, my ideas were very good!" But she kept on laughing still.

It was about then when the rain began to turn to tiny snowflakes, crystals shining white which settled on their cloaks. For a while they both watched it fall, the flurries making their vision blurry. Arwen did not have snow going in her eyes, because of her long hood, but Kelmeleth had quite a problem, seeing as his hood just rested over his long hair. He began to blink about five hundred times a minute.

"Right," Arwen said, trying to get back to what she had been saying before Kelmeleth's disruption, "then we went on to talk of the time I had led Aragorn to Cerin Amroth. He did not even realise what was bringing him there. I remember he looked so cute, following his heart's love there. And then I told you that when he saw me and we held each other at last, he said he would bind himself to me, forever." She fell silent.

Kelmeleth looked at her, and then away. "You said that you cleaved your heart to his, didn't you?" he said. Arwen nodded, her throat feeling rather swollen. Aragorn had been so sweet. She hoped he still was. "Yes, and then I explained how-" she stumbled over her words, feeling a little shy, "- how we kissed." She turned to see how Kelmeleth reacted.

"You actually gave me a very good impression of your kissing, Arwen," he said, trying to sound serious. "You appeared to have had such a brilliant time for you to tell me how his lips felt and what his tongue did." Arwen smiled. "You actually tried to describe the smell of his hair and how his hands felt when he held you." Arwen burst out into fits of giggles, and Kelmeleth raised his eyebrows briefly, "You really did love him to say that!"

"Kelmeleth, I still do!" she replied (with difficulty), "_and_ I can remember how our kiss felt, thank you very much! It's more than you can say!" she teased him.

"That's not fair! You had a whole two hundred years head start!" He watched her in earnest. "You were bound-"

Arwen cut him off. "_You_ have been constantly chased, actually _chased_, by elf-maidens, ever since you were born. You can hardly complain, Kelmeleth." There was a satisfying silence. She smiled and looked away into the mist of snowflakes. They were getting bigger in size now and the three elves ahead appeared as if they had actually fallen off their horses and rolled about in the snow for a few minutes, and then clambered back on like furry snowmen. Arwen honestly thought they looked quite odd. But the horses looked perfectly fine though.

"What happened next?" Kelmeleth asked, trying to veer away unnoticeably. "What did I do? Did I say I could sense your vivid happenings with Aragorn myself?" He knew he was nearing the edge again, but it was very funny when Arwen could not bear it any longer.

"Actually, you did say something. Don't you remember what it was?"

Kelmeleth frowned. "No, I… wait! It wasn't … no!"

"Yes!" Arwen laughed happily, "Yes, you did! You specifically said-" she took a deep breath, "- 'Did you make love with Aragorn?'!" She broke down helplessly, as Kelmeleth snorted and howled with laughter.

"And, then…" he said, struggling to talk at all, "then… well, what happened next was very simple: you fell into the river!" They laughed together, for seemingly ages, until their chests hurt and their throats ached. Arwen tried to wear a straight face and was determined to not look at Kelmeleth. He would only do something to crack her up again. She did admit though that even she had found it incredibly amusing at the time, though very shocking at his nosiness.

"You did actually have a problem with your dress after that, Arwen," Kelmeleth stated, with a broad grin on his face, leaving Arwen shaking her head to restrain herself from bubbling fits of giggles.

"Be quiet, Kelmeleth!" she hissed, as ahead Lirë turned round with a smile to look briefly at the two of them. "Shhhh! I don't want the whole of Arda to know about this! But my answer was _No_, as you should clearly have realised from my reaction. My love is actually something deep inside me, not a thing to talk about to other people _uninvolved_." She looked fixedly at Kelmeleth.

"I'm sorry about that," he said sheepishly, "I suppose being polite did not enter my head at that moment. I was just interested. Anyway, we are all here now and well. Aren't we?"

Arwen did not reply but stared ahead into the darkness littered with falling snow.

"Arwen?" She glanced down. It was then that Kelmeleth realised why she was hesitant.

"Sorry, Aragorn's not here is he?"

Arwen looked up. Maybe she should warn Kelmeleth now what she was going to do.

"Kelmeleth, I –"

But Arwen broke off suddenly. Rúmil had dropped back and slowed his horse down so that he came alongside Arwen and Kelmeleth. He turned to greet them with a smile.

"What was all that noise back there?" he asked, still smiling. Seeing he was not going to get a reply he carried on. "Lirë thinks that we should dismount here, for he says he recognises the high-rising cliffs. The entrance is near, and we will have to lead our horses up the path. I remember it being very narrow."

He pulled on his horse's reigns, and together the three of them halted and leapt down. Alquaran and Rúmil realised what was happening and they too jumped from their horses. Arwen found in surprise that the white snow had already settled, very quickly, and that when she began to lead Ninniach gently along, his hooves only skimmed the top of the snow, and no grass or stones underneath were uncovered. Her horse was blinking rapidly against the blasts of snow and finding it difficult to see.

Arwen was glad was not constricted by having to hold a lantern, as even though it was in her nature to appear graceful, she did like to jump on the snow and feel the soft but satisfying crunching underneath. She was pleased the others could not see her through the snowfall, for as her father would no doubt say, it was 'unladylike' to do such things. Arwen did not see why she should not enjoy herself while she could at any rate. To walk along normally was boring. And basically a complete waste of a brilliant opportunity.

The elves walked closer to the white cliff wall now, their three silver lanterns illuminating the snow very brightly. Lirë was looking closely at the rough wall, finding it hard to trace the small opening. Alquaran brought him one of the lamps and they both talked together in hushed voices. Meanwhile Arwen thought she could see Kelmeleth trying to write his name in the snow with one of his feet, but finding it rather tricky to keep up with the number of letters, and his own horse. Rúmil's tall form was barely visible a few metres away alongside, but she could just about see that he had one hand outstretched to catch the twinkling snowflakes. Well, she was not the only one to enjoy the snow then.

"Arwen?" Alquaran called, and she came up to him and Lirë, who had a confused look on his face. Behind, Arwen could hear Kelmeleth's horse neighing impatiently at his stumbles, and next to her Rúmil brought his horse nearby.

"I was sure it was somewhere around here," Lirë sighed, "it is just hard to see through the snow, and also there has been a disturbance very recently here." Arwen's eyes widened. A disturbance. The Rangers! They had passed by here! That was very good.

She did not bother to listen to Lirë anymore, she just followed the other elves along, basically like Kelmeleth, except he was drawing crude shapes with his feet in the snow and not thinking hard like Arwen. She really needed to plan what she was to do. She would have to do something very soon, otherwise the distance between them and the Rangers would be too great. She already knew she would not be able to take Ninniach – it would give too much away to the Rangers. _And_ she needed to tell Kelmeleth.

"What time of the night is it?" she suddenly asked. Alquaran turned round thoughtfully.

"Erm, I think we are about halfway through the journey, maybe a bit less. We still have a few hours yet. We can have something to eat as we go along." He smiled and then turned back to Lirë.

She would have to be very careful then. As soon as she noticed the lights of the Dunedain party below, she would have to do something about half an hour or maybe slightly more afterwards. But she would have to get it exactly right, so that she was down on their road before sunrise, when the Rangers would stop, but not before, otherwise she would have a big problem. She needed _them_ to find her, not _her_ to find them.

"Yes!" she heard Lirë shout, "Ai! I have found it!" Arwen glanced up and even Kelmeleth stopped dancing strangely to have a look. There was a thin split in the cliff face, almost hidden by overhanging rocks like bundles of vines, except they blended in perfectly with the rest of the snow surrounding it. Only the shadows thrown by the lanterns revealed its hiding place, and as Arwen peered between the other elves' shoulders, she could just discern a worn flight of grey stairs disappearing under a sheltering archway.

Lirë lead the way up first, still with the horses, then Arwen followed with Kelmeleth behind her, and then came Rúmil with Alquaran last, checking that no one was following them. Arwen found herself in a sort of tunnel, except that it climbed steadily upwards, and it was not at all constricting inside, but still with fresh cool air and lots of room to move through; though admittedly the horses did not seem too happy. The walls were roughly cut out of soft grey coloured stone, but Arwen was not sure that if a proper bright light was shone on it, the hue would actually be snowy white. The steps were smooth and undemanding, and yet the elves found it very easy to climb up quite a height.

The tunnel was not long however, and Arwen soon stepped out into the open air again, and back to being sprinkled with snow. They were now on a ledge, quite a wide one, and it swept around the edge of the mountain like a creamy ribbon. The cliff face was much closer now in comparison to before, and the path was not very wide, just enough for two people and their two horses to walk abreast. The rocks above overhung some of the little road, but they did not do much in the way of shelter, for the snow was shooting at the elves and horses from the side, and at such a gathering force that the horses' manes stood up on end in the wind and their ears twitched to shake the tickling snow out.

Arwen was hoping that they would get back on their horses, but unfortunately Lirë did not say that they could, so instead the elves trudged along through the snow, the first elf cutting a way through the gathering drifts. It seemed much colder up here and more prominent to the wind. The chill was almost unearthly, for Arwen had never experienced snow when it was falling in this way. Usually it just lightly drizzled in Lórien, and when she had travelled over the mountains before, her party had escaped the heavy snowfalls and had an easy journey, in perfect conditions one might say. This was very different, and after a while the novelty wore off and Arwen's main priority was to keep her hands warm, as well as straining to think of how to escape.

Arwen's trailing and hopeless thoughts were disturbed by a snuffling sound. Kelmeleth appeared next to her, and gave a loud sneeze at the same time as his hood fell back. Arwen was quite relieved she now had a chance to talk to him, quickly before the others could change the situation. All Arwen hoped was that she didn't catch his train of sneezes.

"Kelmeleth?" she asked him, and he turned to face her with a surprising smile on his face. She had thought he would start frowning with the weather turning specifically against him.

"Yes?" he answered, "are you alright? It is not actually fair; you are nearer the cliff wall than me. I get all the blasts of snow in my face, and you hardly get any!"

"Kelmeleth," Arwen said again, "I need to talk to you quickly. The others must not hear, or I am living in foolish hope," she pressed on. Kelmeleth nodded slowly, his eyes showing a rather suspicious understanding, with anticipation of what was coming.

"Ok," she whispered, or spoke in as hushed a voice as she could get to reach Kelmeleth's elven ears (which was quite quiet at any rate), "we are not actually going to Rivendell." She looked at him anxiously to see what his reaction would be. It was certainly not what she had expected.

"Oooh! Goodie! Where are we going then? Are we going on an adventure, or going camping in the Wild?" he asked her with a happy grin on his face. "Or are we going to somewhere near Rivendell, or passing it by to go to somewhere like, I don't know, the Grey Havens perhaps?" Kelmeleth had barely poked a toe out of Lothlórien, and was now exceptionally happy to be going somewhere which he did not know where. That place was not hard to be, seeing as he had no idea where anything was outside of the Golden Wood, except which way was mountains and which way was river.

"Um, no Kelmeleth," Arwen said with sustained apprehension, "we aren't going near Rivendell. And we are not going to the Havens or any other elvish place." The smile on his face fell slightly. "I'm really sorry, but I have tricked you. I have tricked you all."

Kelmeleth looked at her with a very confused expression on his face. He had one eyebrow curved up and the other had sunk down. He looked lopsided really. A strange complexion on an elf. "Arwen, I don't actually get it. What's going on then? Did you just come to be in the snow?"

"No, Kelmeleth. Um, please promise me though that you won't tell anyone what I am just about to reveal to you. _Please._" She looked at him worriedly, and hoping he would react calmly to what she needed to tell him.

"Ok," he replied slowly, "but please don't make it sound horrible. I don't want everything to go wrong. And I'm very confused anyway, so please tell me!"

"Right. Here we go." Arwen took a deep breath and adjusted her hood over her face. "Right. I told my grandparents that I was coming to visit my father. That is also what Lirë, Alquaran and Rúmil think. But I'm not going there. They believed me that we are. I came because I… because I saw the Dunedain Rangers come through Lothlórien two days ago; and I saw Aragorn. Kelmeleth," she pleaded, "I have to see him! I have to be with him! I can not bear to stay apart from him any longer. He is me, he has my hope and my heart and my love. He is my dreams. I have to be with Aragorn."

Kelmeleth watched her. "I understand," he said softly, "I see now. But, when are you going? I don't particularly want to be here if you aren't. I may as well go home now, once I have built an igloo."

Arwen sighed and looked down at the swirling snow around her feet, like beautiful swan feathers. "I have to leave soon. Well, what I mean is, tonight. This morning. Before dawn, I will need to have left the camp. When I see their lights below, I will know I should leave us about half an hour later. I must climb down the cliff to their path and be there before they come. I suppose they must find me lying in the snow, as if I am injured. But I can not climb there too late, for I cannot survive out here for a whole night on my own. They have to find me."

Kelmeleth smiled and looked away at the thickly-coated mountain. "But," he said, in his 'cunning' voice as he liked to call it, "how are you going to get to him? Don't think that Alquaran won't notice that you have disappeared!"

"I know. I will need your help once I have gone, to say something like you think I have just gone on ahead, or fled home. You have to keep them docile for at least one day. I should be safe after that. I will just slip away once they aren't looking, which won't be too hard after tonight's hard work through all this snow." She brushed her feet through the snow, making it spray up in a fan shape in front of herself.

"Arwen!" Kelmeleth said, "have you not realised? You can't wait till sunrise! That's too late – the Rangers will all be asleep by the time you get down onto their path. You must leave before then!"

"No!" Arwen exclaimed, realising now her mistake. "Oh dear, that makes everything even more tight. It means that after I see them below, I have to somehow make us stop way before usual time and then escape without anyone seeing."

"I can see you go Arwen," Kelmeleth stated, rather obviously, and unnecessarily. Arwen looked at him scathingly.

"Oh, this is so hard, Kelmeleth!" she moaned. "All I want to do is see Aragorn, and I have all this to break through." She sighed, with basic exhaustion. "It's not even as if it is an easy journey. We have to follow along at this speed, which is fairly reasonable on normal lands, but in this deep snow which rises ever higher and seems to want to pull you over it is not fun. We can't ride the horses as it is too slippery for them and they would get even more agitated. It is pitch black and it is freezing and I am hungry and I am tired and my feet hurt. Is there really any hope for me?"

Kelmeleth looked at her with concern in his smooth face. He blinked his caring eyes and smiled weakly. "Yes," he said, quietly to her, "yes, I think there is hope." Arwen looked up at him and he reached out an arm. He brought her into a momentary hug and held Arwen close. She felt his comforting words seep into her tired self.

"Yes," he said again. "Arwen, you will be with Aragorn soon."


	9. A white dawn

9. A white dawn

The wind screamed and the snow stung. The air was filled 90 with snowflakes (or snow bundles as they were more like), and decided to refuse sight to anyone who wanted to see past the head of their horse. The night was darker than it was possible and appeared to move around the party in strange and ominous shapes, which scared the horses often (but luckily not the elves). The snow on the ground had turned to slush, which was wonderful really, making the elves trip and slide around treacherously. Very kind and considering.

No one was happy. Lirë could not see anything but could just about remember the bends in the path, and so could cope (barely).

Kelmeleth wanted to stop and build snowelves and also to eat lots of Lembas bread. This probably made him the most joyous out of all of them, which was surprising since he would usually be the gloomiest if he was denied both these things. He was a creative being, and to be a logical one was not what he wished a chance for.

Alquaran wanted to sleep and have peaceful dreams again back in Lórien. Not of Arwen anymore, but he still did like her. He preferred bed though.

Rúmil wanted some fire and hot drinks. His hands were iced up and he was afraid that if they were attacked then he would not be able to fight in even the smallest way. He would never forgive himself for that, nor live out Galadriel's punishment. He also had a sneaky suspicion that his bow was actually stuck to his arrows, frozen together with snow and ice.

None of the five horses were happy either. They liked grass and sun. Here there was simply no grass and no sun. So they were not happy.

That left Arwen. She almost felt like crying. There seemed no hope of anything actually working. Not even her smallest prayers had been answered, like for it to be slightly warmer, so how could anything big come out right in the end? Aragorn seemed so far now, further from the reach of her fingers than he had ever felt. From all she could tell, they were lost in a maze of snow and rocks, but she did not even have the ability to see ahead of herself. She could see behind, as much as seeing was really, without a lantern; for the wind was blowing head on and did not go in her eyes this time. Looking up was horrible (as well as pointless), so Arwen gave that a miss.

Therefore Arwen turned her face downwards, and moved nearer the edge of the cliff-road. Kelmeleth had swapped places with her, but now was not to be seen most of the time, even though he was probably just next to her. Arwen stared down, straining with everything she had to see any tiny glimpse of a light, a pinprick glow which would warm her heart completely.

But in actual fact, when she did (miraculously) see a flicker down there in the darkness, her heart stopped. When it tripped on again, Arwen could hardly believe that there were tiny white spots moving along the wide road below. She was relieved to know her eyes could see that much with their elven power, for she had made herself unsure whether she would notice them or not, but she still found it rather surprising.

Arwen blinked just to check that they really were on the path below, the cluster of small shafts of pale light. She looked away and now knew she had to think of something to do – and quick. They would pass the Dunedain fast; such a large party could not go as rapidly, and elves could naturally cope better in these harsher conditions. So Arwen would have to get their party to stop, and not just seem as if she was lazy, or suspicious. She needed the idea soon, or time would run out. _Think, Arwen, think_ she told herself.

The snow seemed to lessen slightly now, and the dark shapes of Kelmeleth with his horse were visible again beside her, and ahead Lirë's form was also reappearing. The wind however was not fading away, but swooping ever more forward, and it became even more vicious and biting at the elves along the pathway. That was also getting narrower, and in the end Arwen decided to wait a little and then go along behind Kelmeleth. It was not worth falling off a cliff.

But Arwen still had not thought of anything. Peering down into the darkness again, she saw with shock that the lights had vanished far behind, and only one or two little dots way further back could be seen. The time was close. They needed to stop. But what could she do? Say she was tired? No, they would just say it was not much longer to sunrise, surely she could last. Say she was hungry? They would just give her some Lembas to eat as the walked on, leading their horses and squinting against the fierce blows. Say she felt ill? Alquaran would just give her some relieving medicine and then she would not be able to complain. Arwen groaned and looked away tiredly. What in all of Arda would she do?

The nightshade, or blanket as it seemed at the moment, lifted up a little more, and though it was still a long while until the sun actually rose, it was easier to see around them. Arwen's way was lit by Kelmeleth's silver lantern, throwing light rays around him and the roofed road. There was still no outer wall, but their way was getting more enclosed and shimmering icicles were falling down from the arching ceiling. Snow was swept in and left rippling patterns on its smooth surface, only to be trodden on by the elves and horses.

The light ahead danced hypnotisingly, bouncing around off all the white surfaces. Arwen then saw something shimmering on the floor, just after Kelmeleth had stepped over it. It looked like a grey puddle, but Arwen knew better. She approached it warily, still worrying helplessly over what she could do to stop the other elves. _Anything, anything,_ she moaned into the wind (which echoed her voice perfectly). She needed something now, NOW.

Arwen's thoughts were running far too fast. She let her subconscious instinct take over.

And so she stepped on the ice.

Arwen slipped on the shiny surface and fell over immediately, landing hard on her side. Her horse's reigns jerked and she let them slide from her hands, Ninniach braying terrified. She screamed as she hit the hard ground, and her ankle twisted underneath her body's quick movement. A shearing pain shot up from there, whilst she felt her elbow throbbing painfully against the bitterly cold ice.

She closed her eyes and heard shouting voices around her. Someone held a light to her face and lifted the hood off.

"Arwen? _Arwen?_ Are you ok? Arwen?"

She blinked wearily and saw Rúmil's upturned face looking at her anxiously. Beside her Kelmeleth knelt down and felt for her cold hands, and Alquaran gently propped her up against himself into a sitting position.

"Arwen," Lirë asked her worriedly, "are you in pain?" She felt herself trembling in the exposure to the cold, and also having to cope with the wounds she had inflicted upon herself. She nodded voicelessly and leant back against Alquaran's strong body. She closed her eyes again and tried not to think of her ankle, which felt like slicing knives.

She heard movements and the horses shifting nervously at the commotion. Arwen listened to Rúmil's fearful voice.

"I think we should make camp, as soon as possible. We cannot continue like this." There were more rustling noises amongst the rasping whispers of the wind. "Where? We cannot stop here. But the next cave is not too far though, if we rest Arwen on a horse." There were mutterings and sighs. She heard Kelmeleth's voice. "I can ride there on my horse, with her in front of me. We have done that many times before. I can't miss the cave if I stay close to the mountain wall."

Arwen then felt herself being lifted up carefully and held in Alquaran's arms. There were more panicked voices but she could not hear what they were saying through the hoarse wind. She was carried as smoothly as possible over to a horse, and felt the brushing of a cloak sweep against her arm. As she opened her eyes she saw Kelmeleth's hands lean forward and pick her limp body up from Alquaran's arms. He held her whilst she sat herself down on Túlisle.

"Kelmeleth!" someone shouted from behind. She felt him turn round to look at them. "We will come as quickly as we can. Light a fire to keep her warm." The horse moved and Kelmeleth pulled the reigns around her, and Túlisle began to trot off into the drizzling snow. Arwen found it much more restful being on a horse again, and felt soothed by the comforting motion, even though it was not her own special Ninniach.

"Arwen?" She heard Kelmeleth's voice call her softly. She looked up at him and smiled a little. "I'm ok," she said quietly, as she watched him strain his eyes to see the opening in the cliff wall. "Are you hurt, I mean quite badly?" he asked her, adjusting the way she was leaning against himself.

"Not badly," she said, "but my ankle does really ache. It twisted sharply when I fell. I probably have a few bruises but they don't hurt really." She heard him sigh in relief.

"Good. I thought you may have tried to harm yourself on purpose, if you did not see the Rangers' lights below. I'm glad you didn't go to such extremes!"

"No!" Arwen said joyfully, "I did see them! I have to leave once Alquaran has healed my ankle as much as he can."

"What!" Kelmeleth exclaimed, as he guided Túlisle closer to the rocks. "You're going to have problems climbing down then. It won't be easy." Arwen turned to watch their advance to the cave. "But I suppose at least you have got us to stop before it is too late," he added thoughtfully.

Arwen saw an opening in the mountain side, quite large, but it looked fairly protected inside. The pathway widened slightly as they reached the archway. Kelmeleth halted.

"I'll get down and then take you off, is that alright Arwen?" he asked her, and she nodded gratefully. He slowly dropped to the ground and then reached up to take Arwen off his horse. Kelmeleth carried her over to a sheltered rock and sat her down. Túlisle wandered after them too, very pleased to be out of the wind.

"Right, I'll just light a fire," he murmured, as he took some tinder sticks out of one of the saddle bags and laid it in a wigwam shape on the clear stone floor. He poked a few smaller leafy bits inside and placed bigger sticks around the pyramid. Then he struck some sparks with two very dry twigs and set a few flames going. He smiled admiringly at his fire.

He helped Arwen over to the welcome flames and she lay down on the floor, with a folded cloak under her ebony head. As Kelmeleth added more branches the fire became larger and hotter, and Arwen felt her body thawing out and becoming warm again. There was a sound from out in the snow and a second horse came into view, with Arwen's Ninniach close behind.

"How are you, Arwen?" It was Alquaran, and he leapt off his black horse quickly, and rummaged through one of his bags. "I'm ok," she replied, "it's just my ankle that is really painful." It still felt ice cold and she could not move it either.

Alquaran hurried over and knelt down on her other side. He had two little flasks in his hands, and he unscrewed the lid of one of them.

"Here, drink this," he said, and gave her the bottle. He helped her into a sitting position before she took a sip from the mixture. Arwen was surprised at how good it tasted. It felt very refreshing and livening, even though it was not hot or even warm. The liquid made her feel happier and more awake as it swept all through her body.

"Thank you," she said meekly as he took the bottle from her hands. She watched interestedly as he opened the other flask. This one had a deliciously sweet smell rushing out from the inside, like the fragrances of a hundred honeysuckle plants and roses mingled together to make a beautiful burst of happiness.

"This will help your ankle," Alquaran explained, seeing the wonder on Arwen's face. "You will be able to walk again in a few minutes." She eagerly took the bottle and had a mouthful from it. The essence was delightful and she loved it so much, no matter whether it helped her ankle or not, and proceeded to take some more drops immediately.

"Hey!" Alquaran exclaimed with laughter on his face, and Arwen smiled as she gave the bottle back. "We may need that for you again some time, but not now!" He placed the lids back on them and then went back to his horse to put the bottles back in his bags.

Arwen saw that the other elves had arrived and now all five horses were huddled together again, and the elves busied about the fire, laying their cloaks on the floor and heating bread and fruits above the leaping flames. Arwen knew she had some time left before she needed to go, but she wanted the other elves to lie down now so that she could be assured of a perfect chance to disappear.

The four elves settled down on their bedding and handed round food to each other, and Arwen was very thankful to eat something again. The pears and plums tasted very good, well preserved by the ice, and then a welcome slice of cake was given to her (and also consumed quickly). All the others seemed to be very tired, and lay down with their heads by the warm glowing of the fire. Arwen followed suit after drinking water from Kelmeleth's bottle, and she closed her eyes seemingly.

But she did not go to sleep, or even let her thoughts trail off. She kept herself awake and focusing on the sounds around her. Elves do not snore, but their breathing patterns do become regular as they drift into sleep. Arwen could hardly control herself from the moment her friends had pulled their cloaks over themselves, but she knew she must wait.

The fire crackled and a stick collapsed. A horse stirred moved nearer to the back of the cave. The wind howled mournfully and blew snow into the cave opening. But there was no noise from the elves.

Arwen's eyes snapped open. She cautiously sat up and looked warily at the others, seeing if they made any movement or asked her if she was alright. No one did. She stood up wobbly, trying to be silent, and found that she could stand on her right foot easily, with no pain, just a slightly uncomfortable feeling. But that was only to be expected.

Arwen wrapped her cloak around her body properly and brought the long hood over her eyes. She could still see the elves, but they were all sound asleep and exhausted after their journey for the night. She tiptoed round the circle to Kelmeleth, and nudged him gently. He made no response whatsoever, and Arwen felt rather unhappy that she could not say goodbye to him. But he looked peaceful, with a strand of a blonde streak of hair falling over his face. He knew where she was going anyway.

Arwen walked softly away from the light and past the horses, looking wistfully at Ninniach. He did not see her, hidden in her twilight cloak, and she stepped outside and unseen, back into the snow again. It came as a shock, to be suddenly attacked by the strong wind and buffeted by freezing snowflakes, but after a while it just became familiar to her. The snow was less now and Arwen could see her way to the edge of the road and approached it apprehensively. It was a long way down to the bottom where the Rangers would come, but the rocks stuck out in many places, so she thought it would not be a very hard climb.

Arwen looked back once more at the sleeping figures in the cave. She hoped they would not worry too much. She turned back and stepped down.

She carefully held onto the rocks with her hands, and let her feet feel their way onto secure rocks. Her fingers were numb and she hated the icy snow against them, but she knew it was necessary if she was to be taken among the Dunedain.

Step after step, ledge after ledge, Arwen climbed down, and down, and down. The road above vanished in the snow, and she refused herself to glance below, so all she did was look at the snowy rocks she passed by as she clung on for her life. The wind pulled at her cloak and pushed at her body, trying to tear her body away from the cliff. It bit at her hands and dragged at her feet, hating her being on the mountain. Arwen became freezing cold again; the drink Alquaran had given her gone completely from her body and her ankle was aching through the cold. Each movement she made became a massive effort, another pain she had to live through. Every rock she rested her feet on had a sharp point, every mound of snow she gripped her hands on enclosed her hands in such cold ice that it hurt.

Time went so slow that one metre down seemed to take an hour. The bottom was getting closer, but by such small amounts that it really seemed impossible to reach. The outcrops in the cliff were easy to get onto, but hard to pass down from, and ice began to form on some of the rocks. Arwen held on as tight as she could, fearing what would happen next. She saw the road below through the darkness, for now the sun was not far away from rising up to greet the mountain, and it could not be so far now that she had to climb. _Only a few more minutes,_ she told herself, _you can do this_.

Arwen cowered against the rocks, timidly reaching for the next foot-hole to step to. One hand at a time, every one she did was like running a marathon, it was so hard. The mountain did not want her, and it despised each of her moves. The snow picked up again and was pelted at her at full strength, hindering her progress for the moment. The wind screeched and Arwen gripped on with tears etching into her eyes. She really did not know if she could do this, with the wind and snow as it was. She shivered constantly now and began to weep uncontrollably, desperate to be with Aragorn. She needed him more than ever, but the pain was so bad she felt that he would never find her and hold her in his arms.

Arwen closed her eyes and started to clamber down the rocks again. She actually managed to keep going for quite a while. The road was near, very near, and just about ten metres below. Her heart felt warmed by the knowledge she was almost there, almost with the Dunedain, almost with Aragorn…

But as she lifted her hand off a rock to move down, the wind suddenly roared and it ripped her from the cliff as if she was just a mere ladybird on a tree trunk. The rocks scraped against her hands as she was torn away, and the wind dragged her down, down to the ground, her screams and cries heard by no one, her frightened tears falling helplessly. The gust scratched with its very own claws, and the chill was colder than anything she had ever experienced, even in the icy conditions she had travelled in. She hit the snow at the bottom hard, and it sprayed out from around her body; and then she lay there still, with not even the smallest movement made.

Arwen had no need to play unconscious. She already was.


	10. Who is she?

10. Who is she?

An ear-splitting yell disturbed Aragorn's thoughts completely. The shock threw all memories of Arwen, the journey, Arwen, the cold, Arwen, the snow, Arwen, the thing he had in his pocket, Arwen, the battle, Arwen, his songs, and Arwen, all out of his head, and all at once. Aragorn half-jumped into the air in frightened surprise before he ran by the other Rangers to the front, carelessly pushing through the group, and straining to see what was happening ahead. As he approached the leading men, he heard more worried shouts for his name.

Aragorn stumbled forward past the last people and looked up. He saw Halbarad mid-distance away, and then another man, he couldn't see who in the gloom, standing over a dark bundle lying in the snow. Aragorn had no idea what it was, but he was very concerned about its being there and why it made his friends unhappy. He sprinted pale-faced up the slope, leaving a deep trench behind in the snow, and to Halbarad. He greeted Aragorn in a panicked voice.

"Aragorn, Aragorn," he couldn't quite put into words what he wanted to say. His eyes flickered nervously. "You should come and have a look." Halbarad then turned to face the shape with Calosin stooped by it. Aragorn frowned and leapt forward, and anxiously slowed down next to his friend.

"Holy Eru," Calosin murmured. Aragorn's heart nearly stopped. It was a person lying there before him, completely still in the snow. Their face was downwards and all their body was covered by a deep blue-black cloak, but he could see straight away that it was no Man who had fallen there. It was an elf.

"Mellon nin," Aragorn muttered to himself, and he knelt down softly beside the elf's body. A horrible sickening feeling spread throughout him and he felt some uneasy apprehension. He sincerely hoped that the elf was not dead, not that he knew who it was, but he still cared for them, all the elves, very dearly. They were like his childhood family.

He slowly reached out a hand, and then gently pushed the person over by their shoulder. The body was limp and flexible, and moved easily at his touch. As it rolled over in the snow he saw clearly that this was an elf-maiden – the cloak clung to the upper body tightly with the dampness, and accentuated her body's curves very obviously. But he could see no visible movement of her breathing. Aragorn pulled his sleeves up to above his wrists and pressed a palm firmly against her chest, holding her back with the other. There was no beating. Nothing could be felt at his fingers, no pulse nor even the rising and falling of her steady breathing. He sighed sadly and made to move away.

But as he adjusted his hand over her chest, he thought he sensed something. Leaning closer, he rested his head right above it, and closed his eyes in hope. He heard a tiny beating – the smallest Aragorn thought he had ever heard. The rhythm was so quiet that he was amazed that he had even sensed it. And whilst he leant against her soft chest, he felt the light touch of it brushing against his ear, showing that she was actually breathing; yet only just. She must have been out here a long time in the bitter snow, or otherwise to have done something else which had made her this close to death.

"Calosin," Aragorn breathed as he sat back up, "Calosin, she's alive!" His friend sighed with relief and knelt down beside him. The body still looked as dead as it ever did though. Aragorn pulled her as carefully as he could up onto her side, with one knee over and an arm up by her head, so that she could breathe easier and with less strain. The elf-maiden gave no resistance and was definitely unconscious, and Aragorn did not want to loose her now that he knew she was still living. There was still hope.

Halbarad walked up behind them and watched silently from above. The three, or four, of them seemed cut off from the rest of the world in a land of swirling snow and icy mists, with no sound around them at all. "Who is she?" Calosin whispered, not really expecting an answer. There was a long hood still hiding the elf-maiden's face, and the edge of it fluttered slightly in the breeze.

Calosin stretched out a hand, and was going to lift the soft hood off her face, but as his fingers came near, the elf moved. It seemed like she flinched away, as if she had been harshly touched, and with a great effort she pulled an arm up from underneath herself and let her hand collapse in front of the hood. Calosin looked up in alarm at Aragorn, and was unsure at what to do. He turned back to watch the elf, but she just lay there still once more, with the cold water of the snow seeping into her cloak.

He leant forward again, assured that she was still unconscious, but just as he felt the silky hem of her hood, he heard a tiny sound. He stopped; and listened. She was moaning quietly, as if she was in a fever, and there seemed to be the word 'no…' in her tiring whispers. Calosin was moved with pity and drew away.

"What's wrong?" Halbarad asked, and came closer. "See who she is."

"No!" said Aragorn firmly, and sliding his arms under her small back and her legs he tenderly picked her up. "No," he said again, letting her head fall softly against his strong chest. He watched the elf-maiden lying in his arms with great concern in his grey eyes.

Halbarad disagreed. "Why not? She's out of it completely. We may as well." He walked next to Aragorn, and Calosin stood up from the snow slowly. In frustration Halbarad reached out to lift the hood up.

"NO!" Aragorn commanded, in such an alarming voice that Halbarad stepped back in fear. "No; let her be for the moment. She may be unconscious, but this might be more than just a dream to her. Let her have her wish."

Aragorn then heard muffled sounds behind him and turned round. The group of Rangers was approaching fast, and the ones at the front seemed confused at whether to halt or not. Many of them were watching him with much interest. He turned back to Calosin.

"Take her," he said urgently, and looked up at his friend. Calosin however seemed rather unhappy to do this. "Calosin, she is very light. Do not worry; _please_," he added, glancing back at the Dunedain. He did not want a large crowd forming, and daylight was almost nigh. Calosin accented and took the elf from Aragorn's arms. His look of resentment turned to amazement, for he found that she weighed almost nothing, and his arms did not tire at all. She felt so thin and breakable against his body, and he was almost afraid that he would harm her.

"Halbarad; come with me," Aragorn said, once he saw the elf was safe. He walked quickly towards the ascending group, and Halbarad hurried after him. "We must make camp shortly," Aragorn muttered to him in a low voice. "Find some people to help you speed up our progress, and do it fast. I need to go ahead to search for the best place under the cliffs, where it is flat. Can you do this for me?" he asked Halbarad.

"Yes, my lord," he replied, feeling slightly ashamed at his rashness earlier. He ran off among the men, calling names without delay. Aragorn sped back up the snowy slope, able to see clearly, now that the first hour was almost there.

"Calosin," he said, as he passed his friend by, "be careful, and call me if something bad happens. We will settle down very soon, and then I will tend to her." With that Calosin nodded, and Aragorn ran as fast as he could up through the deep snow. He knew that now the elf-maiden's life depended on him, and he had to save her in any way he possibly could.

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When Arwen woke she was immediately terrified. She could barely see anything, and she had no idea at all where she was. She could not remember what had happened since she had eaten the meal with the elves, and now she was utterly confused. Her whole body ached and she felt frozen right to her heart. If she moved then she was instantly hindered by sharp pains, and if she tried to see what was around her then the vision swam wobbly and her head felt incredibly dizzy and she thought she would be sick.

Arwen gradually realised that she was lying on her side, and on something that was not the cold snow which she had had to bear for a long while. She thought that there was a fire in front of her, but no heat seemed to be reaching her cold body, and the sight just glared at her and left imprints on her eyes. She also sensed that someone was watching her, but she was too weak to see who it was, and afraid that she would hurt herself even more if she did. There were sounds around her, very loud they seemed, and they were movements of people busying about in a hurry.

After what seemed like forever Arwen heard a voice approach her, and then a reply from right next to where she lay.

"How is she, Calosin?" a man asked, with a lot of concern in his voice.

"She has awoken, I think. She stirred not too long ago, but she has not moved since." The second voice had a younger tone to it, and a richer Northern accent. Arwen did not know quite what to assume. Her mind was working too slowly for her to do anything, or think properly.

There was a soft rustle, and one of them knelt down beside her, their knee touching her back. "Good," he spoke quietly, and gently felt for one of her hands under her cloak sleeve. It was the man who had talked first.

"Valar!" he exclaimed as he found her hand, and Arwen felt his as if it was on fire. "Calosin, she is like ice!" Arwen's hand was clasped between the man's two, and he breathed his warm breath over it, like the heat from a dragon's tongue.

"Would you like your athelas, my lord?" the second asked, and she heard him shift his feet unsurely. "No," came the reply, "I will need stronger than that. Bring my leather pouch with the emerald-green leaves in. And some hot water. And ask Emathar to put up your tent just near here."

Arwen heard the man's confusion as he was about to ask something, but then thought better of it. His footsteps soon faded away.

The man above her now took her other hand, and he attempted to warm that one up too. Arwen slowly realised that she was in the camp of the Dunedain, and felt relief knowing that she would be cared for. The warmth in the Ranger's hand was delightful and made her feel more peaceful, with ease spreading throughout her body. He began to chant something, very quietly, but she felt herself answering to him in thought, as if his voice arose the spirit in her once more.

"Awake," he called her softly, and caressed her hands soothingly. Arwen felt her breaths deepen and become easier to control, and her vision became clearer and she could see the bright log fire and many men talking together some distance away. The Ranger's voice stirred some fair memory inside her, but she could not remember what, though it did comfort her, and she sighed happily.

The Ranger heard her sigh. "My lady," he said quietly, as he took a bowl of water from his companion's hands, and laid it on the ground, "what is your name?" Arwen heard the sounds of the other man leaving again, and her Ranger doing something in the water. She was not sure what to say to him, for she knew she could not tell her real name. Her body tightened with stress, but the man just hushed her softly. Arwen closed her eyes and whispered the first elvish name that came into her head.

"Ithiluin," she said, and above her the man nodded slowly. Arwen could hear the drips and splashes of the hot water in the bowl, and was overcome again by a fear, partly that he would realise it was not her real name, and partly she did not know.

"Shhh," he whispered, and the movements in the water stopped. "Do not worry. I will look after you, Ithiluin." Arwen heard him rubbing his hands with a towel. She was filled with a sudden desire to see what he looked like. She strained to see him but he noticed her attempt to roll over.

"Do not move," he said, "you may hurt yourself. Let me help you." He got up and moved around her, before sitting down again. Arwen felt his soft hands gently lift her up into a sitting position, and he let her lean in the hollow of his arm. Arwen rested her head against his shoulder and looked around them. She could now see many more people, who were eating and drinking, and lots of tents. Everywhere was bathed in faint sunlight and a few odd snowflakes were falling here and there.

She could not see the Ranger's face, but she watched him work with the water. She could see some rich leaves resting at the bottom, and a fragrant steam rising up into the cool air. He dipped a small cup into the bowl and filled it with some of the liquid, before drawing it out again.

"Shall you drink this?" he asked her, and Arwen nodded as much as she could. Seeing her agreement, he then said softly, "Will you let me take your hood off your face?" He was very interested to see what her reaction would be, and watched her very closely. He had believed that her words when she had been found were not just from a dream. Arwen immediately shrank away from his hand holding the cup, and her heart starting racing very fast. She really did not want anyone to see her, not even Aragorn, -wherever he was; not yet. She felt so afraid.

"Shhh, shhh," he soothed her, and he put the cup down on the blanket beneath them. He stroked her head and hushed her, in hope that she would calm down. She was actually shaking, and he did not want her to harm herself by getting frightened like this.

When her breathing had slowed back down, the Ranger took up the cup again and held it near to her. Slowly he brought it up under her hood and to her lips, so that she could drink it. Arwen felt so tired now, but she let him tip the warm water into her mouth. It ran down her throat, and as she closed her eyes she felt herself being relieved slightly from her pains. It warmed her heart and touched every part of her body, and she relaxed in his arms as she managed to swallow some more in little mouthfuls.

He took the cup away after she had drunk as much as she had the effort to, and he placed it back next to the bowl. He then readjusted her position in his arms, so that they were both comfortable, and he sighed.

"I will tend to your wounds when you are sleeping, but for now you will not be in so much pain." Arwen did not reply, but was suddenly overcome with something irritating her throat and breathing, and she coughed for quite heavily as he held her against him. He rubbed her chest and ribs to help her breath again. He then fondled her gently, and spoke to her again.

"Ithiluin, will you please tell me how you came to be here?" He rocked her slowly to make the coughs subside. Arwen had no idea what to tell the Ranger. She could say they were going to Rivendell, but then she would get lots of questions about why, and in the end she would get taken there. She did not really like lying to the kind Ranger, but she decided she had to.

"I can't remember," she whispered, and crouched closer against his chest. His clothes were soft and comfortable to rest against, and she could also feel his body heat coming through. She still felt frozen, really frozen, even with the special drink from the herbs. The Ranger cuddled her when he saw this.

"You are so cold," he murmured, and relaxed like this for a few minutes, letting Arwen huddle up in his warmth. She wondered whether Aragorn was around here somewhere, but she felt too exhausted to think about it. But she hoped she would find him tomorrow. He seemed like a dream to her at the moment, and the thought of him and the soft hold of the Ranger began to send her to sleep.

The Ranger asked her something again before she fell asleep. "Ithiluin, Bluemoon, please can I see your face." The truth was he felt comforted by having someone in his arms again. Arwen was very drowsy, but she heard his familiar voice, and replied softly to him, "please, no…" She finally became asleep, and the Ranger listened to the gentle breathing for a while before he called to Calosin.

His friend hurried over, and asked his lord how the elf-maiden was.

"She should be alright, but she needs somewhere warm to sleep," he explained as he stroked the dark cloak on her arm. He had never seen a cloak like this before.

"What is it you want?" Calosin asked warily, not sure if he was going to like what the answer was. His lord sighed in confusion and looked up.

"Will you let her sleep with you? We have no spare tents or bedding to let her sleep in. And she is so cold, I'm sure she would-" he paused "-she would die if she did not have something to keep her warm." He looked pleadingly at Calosin.

He smiled. "I will do that. I know the tents are small anyway, but I do not mind." He watched the elf sleeping in his friends' arms. "She seems so pure, and so afraid. Has she not let you see her face?"

Calosin's lord shook his head. "Mmmm," Calosin said, "I need to have something to eat, but once you have washed her cuts and wounds, then just call for me." He wandered over towards his puzzled friends, and as he sat down to eat his dinner, he began to explain to them about the elf-maiden.

But as his lord stared into the yellow flames, wondering himself at Calosin's words 'so pure, and so afraid', he felt the elf-maiden move slightly in his arms. As he turned to watch her with concern, he thought he caught her saying some words. Shocked at what he thought she said he leant closer to her veiled head. Sure enough, she was quietly crying.

"Aragorn, Aragorn…"

He looked at her, stunned, and hushed her softly into deep sleep, away from her dreams.

But why had she called his name, before he had even told it to her?


	11. So near

11. So near…

Arwen woke to find herself in a very dark tent, and wrapped up comfortably with lots of warm sheepskin blankets. Beside her a man peacefully slept, and Arwen was immediately reminded of her Aragorn; but although she could not see this man's face, she could tell he was younger and did not bear the strain which came with long painful years of wandering alone in the wilderness.

She carefully sat up and found that she had a strange floating sense inside her, relieving the sharp throbbing of her deep cuts and bruises. She realised that she must have been given other drinks of the medicine from the man who had helped her last night, or morning as it had more been, and looked after her safely. His face she had not seen, but Arwen wished to thank him very much for his compassion before they set off again.

But the man next to her stirred, and, making Arwen jump, sat up quickly. She saw him smile through the gloom as he pulled more covers around him.

"Are you ok, Ithiluin?" he asked, Arwen being slightly surprised at that use of name. However her calm elven complexion hid her shock well and she smiled back pleasantly.

"Yes thank you. I was just thinking I would rise and find my healer, to thank him. It is not every day that one has such a burden laid upon them." She slowly pulled her legs up and out of the sheets, the hood still resting gently over her fair face.

"You have not been a burden, my lady!" the man exclaimed. "We are pleased that we can help you. And you are certainly a great interest for us." He grinned at her and then too began to crawl out of his bedding, trying to avoid squashing Arwen in the small tent.

"Oh, sorry!" he suddenly said, "I have not told you my name; it is Calosin. I am close friends with my Lord, the man who helped you when I found you in the snow."

Arwen's attention was held by his words. "Your Lord?" she asked unsurely, a touch of delight escaping into her voice. The Ranger stopped what he was doing and looked up at her strangely.

"Yes, why?" he said, "didn't you know? He was the one who looked after you; he is such a skilled man. Did you not know?" Arwen shook her head, and rubbed one of her fingers in thought. She felt something odd and saw that the palms of her hands had massive cuts in them, the rips in her soft skin reaching all the way up her fingers. Their Lord really was amazing if he could take such pain away. _And_ all the sores of her other injuries. This man sounded extremely like Aragorn. Her heart leapt into her mouth again.

"What is his name?" Arwen asked cautiously, "and what does he look like?" She played unknowing, hoping she would receive a perfect description of her Estel. She started to fold up the blankets she shared with Calosin, but much neater than he was doing it.

Calosin chuckled to himself and held an arm out to stop her. "Calm down!" he laughed. "You'll have plenty of chances to see him, and he will definitely want to pay attention in seeing you as well. Can't it wait?" He was amused at Arwen's sudden burst of movement. She did see his point, but she really really _really_ wanted to see him – and NOW!

She thought quickly.

"Ummm, I need a hairbrush!" she shouted triumphantly. She knew Aragorn would have one, but she seriously doubted whether many others of his men had them.

"Steady on!" Calosin laughed again. "Ok, ok, you can go and find him! Just don't harm yourself in the hurry! I don't want to be blamed for more injuries, even if it is all for a hairbrush! And I'm _sure_ he has one, which you may borrow." Arwen beamed, and the man could sense her joy, even though her face was still veiled by her hood.

"He has long dark hair, and he is also tall, and handsome as some girls at home in the North seem to think. I believe his tent is not far at all from here, so you can't miss him. His face is very kindly, and his eyes are soft, and grey I suppose." Calosin gazed up thoughtfully, as if trying to picture his Lord's face. Arwen scrambled over to the end of the tent and carefully pulled back the flap. The sky outside was a dark blacky-grey, and a chill wind suddenly blew into the tent, along with a handful of icy snowflakes.

"I won't be long!" she called back to Calosin who smiled, and indicated for her to close the tent-door again, and fast. Arwen stepped outside, finding her ankle a bit stiff, but she could still stand without much difficulty. She tied the flap back with her warm fingers, and then straightened up again. No movements could be clearly seen, but a few lanterns illuminated tents in cool yellow glows. Arwen looked around herself, and then decided to walk to her right. There was a lantern alight in one of those tents, and she had a feeling that it was the one. She took each step at a time, walking along slowly but surely. Unlike the Rangers, she did not tread deep gorges into the snow, but managed to glide along its surface like a mere shadow. The wind whipped round her, but the long cloak stayed firmly on her, and the cold biting fell away.

As Arwen neared the tent, she saw that there was a tiny gap between the door and the rest of the tent, and it flapped slightly in the cool gusts. A shaft of light fell out and shimmered on the sparkling white snow, showing some tangled marks of footsteps. Arwen's pulse began to race, and she crept closer to the tent, walking soundlessly over the snow. She gently knelt down in front of the flap and nervously looked through the slit.

The lantern was balancing amidst some very messy piles of blankets, a large heap shoved to one side of the tent, but no one was inside. Arwen could faintly discern the familiar scent of someone coming from the warmth in the tent, but it only lingered in the air shortly, and soon it vanished. Arwen's hopes fell and she sat down on her knees despondently.

Suddenly a hand touched her lightly on the shoulder and Arwen spun round, blinded by the bright light of another lamp.

"Are you looking for me?" A gentle voice asked, and a hand came down to her eye level. Arwen reached out to take it but instead the man pulled her carefully up by her wrists. She stumbled and blinked in the sharp light. "Who are you?" she asked him softly.

The man moved the lantern away from her eyes and his face lit up. He replied and smiled at her fondly.

"Aragorn."

Arwen's heart nearly stopped. For a moment she forgot to breathe as she saw his dear face once more, the one she had longed to see for so long, and gone through so much to reach. She loved his concerned eyes, his tanned cheeks, his bearded chin, his beach hair, his warm smile, his luscious lips…

"Are you alright?" he asked her as she began to breathe heavily with disbelief. His hand touched her delicately at the waist and Arwen trembled as a tickling feeling shot up her body, teasing her senses which had long been withheld from Aragorn's passionate love.

Arwen nodded timidly, her mind racing so fast she had no idea what to do or to think. Aragorn meanwhile held up the lantern so that his face was bathed in more light.

"I cleaned your wounds when you were asleep yesterday," he said quietly, "you have also sprained your ankle and damaged your other knee, but you seemed to walk fine just now." He smiled as he spoke to her, still unaware of anything unusual. "Did you need me for anything?" he asked.

Arwen remembered the supposed reason why she had come to find her Lord. "I just wondered if I could borrow your hairbrush, please," she said shyly, feeling her cheeks redden. Aragorn laughed silently. He stooped down by the tent and reached inside for his bags. Arwen stared at his strong body, taking in every single thing he did as if it was a jewel worth the whole world. She watched his broad back, imagining what was underneath, and what his soft skin would feel like to touch…

Aragorn stood up, and Arwen glanced away in embarrassment even though her face was hidden. He held out a little wooden comb in his hand.

"I hope this will suffice," he smiled, as Arwen shakily took it from him. "I should have guessed you would require something like this!" She shrank back from and he laughed warmly. "Don't worry, you will be fine. The battle is not here yet."

Arwen froze at his words.

"What?" she said hoarsely. A battle? No one had said there was to be a battle. She had not known she was going to be attacked by hundreds of orcs, and would have to fight to save herself. All she had wanted was Aragorn.

"There's to be a battle," Aragorn said again, in a strong voice. "We will have reached the summit of the mountain by tomorrow afternoon, and then we will be fighting the horde of Nhaxûn orcs. Did you not know?" He watched her without showing much emotion on his face, Arwen thinking he looked very brave by doing so.

"Calosin did not tell me," she whispered, barely able to believe this. She was terrified by the very thought. She really did not want to be in this position.

Aragorn looked at her, a bit puzzled. "Calosin should not need to tell you, many people know about this; elves and Men. It is not just a small fight, arranged a couple of weeks ago. We have known about this danger here for a long time. Your Lady Galadriel even aided us to pass through the Golden Wood to come here."

Arwen gave a small squeak. "How did you know I come from there?" she asked indignantly, forgetting herself and her position. She watched Aragorn chuckle and she was moved by deep lusting emotions for him again.

"I saw your clothes last night, when I searched for your wounds. Don't worry, I didn't see your face!" he said, foreseeing the elf-maiden's reaction. "But I know someone from Lothlórien, and I recognised the dress… well, it is very similar anyway." He sighed and Arwen knew he was thinking of her, but unknowingly, and she saw his sad wistfulness pass across his face. She wanted to reach out and kiss him right there with everything she had, but something seemed to be stopping her from doing that, a small warning in the back of her head.

In a moment he was back to normal, and the chance was gone. He watched her again in the lamplight.

"You had better go, Ithiluin," he said, a hint of melancholy in his gentle words. "You have beautiful hair, by the way." He smiled affectionately as he turned and left her, disappearing away into the dark shadow of the world with his burning lantern. Arwen sighed longingly and gazed at his receding form, until he vanished behind the black shapes of tents. He heard his northern voice calling out the command to rise, echoing in the cold night air. Arwen turned away, and slowly walked back to Calosin's tent, seeing a group of men relighting the fire from the morning before, but not really taking it in. She gratefully came to the tent and crouched down to climb inside, where there was another soft glimmer of a lantern light. Calosin glanced up at her as she entered, smiling friendlily.

"You were a while," he stated, and fastened the door shut for her. Arwen sat down and said nothing, holding the comb Aragorn had given her so tightly she could feel the prongs digging sharply into her already wounded hand. She was rather confused, and needed to work out what would happen along with the battle. Calosin watched her keenly, having not been in contact with many elves in his short life.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, explaining her silence. She looked down and gazed down at the comb, turning it over in her hands as she turned over the problem in her mind.

"Well?" Calosin prompted. Arwen looked up, wondering she was meant to have done. "Are you or are you not going to comb your hair? Aragorn said it was very thick and long yesterday." Arwen shook herself awake and remembered her hair. It was true, what Calosin said, and she had not brushed it for a while.

"Ok," she assented, "but please don't look." Calosin looked at her very oddly.

"Why?" he asked, his eyes flickering downwards as if he expected her to be getting undressed. Arwen noticed this with slight humour.

"Just don't look at my face. I'll turn away if you like." She sat round the other way, with ease now that the tent was cleared, and slowly pulled back her hood. She was rather nervous, and she could feel his eyes burning into her back. The risk of Calosin telling Aragorn what she looked like was too dear to pay for at the present. The consequences could be fatal, in a sense at least.

Feeling the slightly cooler air on her face, Arwen gently began to pull the comb through her raven hair, feeling the teeth pass through her strong knots with ease. The scent of Aragorn was exceedingly strong on here, especially to her elven senses, and she loved it. She wanted to be covered in his smell, bathed in his likeness. She adored him so much, and when she thought Calosin would not see it suspicious she held the comb to her nose. Aragorn's fragrance was overpoweringly sweet and familiar, and she sighed his name as her eyes softened by the imagined feeling of his presence.

"Can I see your face, please, Ithiluin?" Calosin suddenly asked. Arwen stopped brushing the back of her hair, and brought the comb down to her knees again.

"Why?" she asked, wishing he was not so nice that she would mind offending him if she refused.

"I just want to see you," he replied innocently, but Arwen caught a touch of curiosity and daring there. She smiled despite herself and shook out her hair over her back, beginning to brush the other side now.

"Ithiluin?" he said brightly, and she heard him crawling forward behind her. The slyness in his voice rippled in the air and Arwen smiled again, still combing her luscious curtain of hair in Aragorn's scent.

Suddenly Calosin tickled her, and Arwen squirmed at the touch of his fingers, falling onto her side. She felt his hands shoot tingling up her nerves, and she giggled loudly, pleading him to stop. Burying her face in the ground sheet, Calosin continued to trace his fingers down her slim back; tickling her so unbearably she could not help but squeak hopelessly.

"Show me, show me!" Calosin laughed in amusement, knowing that he was getting near to seeing her face. Arwen wriggled, trying to escape his hands, but he grasped her tightly in one and continued to make her shiver under his fingers. Shaking with laughter, she hid under her thick ebony hair, falling to pieces beneath him.

"No…" she begged, thrashing about in his arms with real no point. She knew she could never break from his hands, but she could not take his itching tickles. They found her sensitive nerves where only Aragorn had ever reached his fingers, excluding the other times when her friends (namely Kelmeleth, cough, cough) had tickled her.

"I'm not a Ranger for nothing!" he hooted, and his fingers ran about her waist faster until she collapsed on the ground, with nothing at all left. Delightfully he pulled her over onto her back, and pushed her feeble hand away. He brushed the silky strands of hair off her face slowly, not quite sure what to expect now he came to it.

He caught his breath as his hand revealed Arwen's face.

"Valar…" he exclaimed quietly as Arwen blinked into his eyes, her lips parting a little. Calosin had never seen anyone more beautiful than her in his life. His eyes roamed over her smooth cheeks, her curving nose, and her sharp eyebrows resting delicately above her eyes. Her long eyelashes flashed seductively her slim neck was just like an elegant swan's. Her bright pink lips were so desirable and cushion-like and full of colour. But it was her eyes which held him most, so sparkly-blue and so deep, full of beautiful life.

He kneeled back as Arwen sat up, watching him with a small smile playing on her face.

"You're so pretty," he gasped, not quite knowing what to tell her. Arwen could tell he was genuinely shocked by her beauty, and from previous experiences, she knew he would do whatever she asked him to. She smiled and spoke to him in a shimmering silvery voice, one to match her looks.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" she asked him, no longer afraid, but in a strong voice. Calosin shook his head wildly, willing to do anything she wanted. Arwen was satisfied. Almost.

"And don't tell Aragorn," she said, even more firmly. She watched him keenly, and he shied away and cringed under her piercing eyes.

"No…" he whispered, beginning to smile as he gradually became accustomed to her fair face. He did not even question why she asked him not to, he was so engrossed in watching her.

"Good," Arwen replied, and flashed a dazzling smile at Calosin. His face shone with joy of being near someone so beautiful, who actually liked him, and he picked up her comb for her from the floor. Thanking him silently she took it from his hands, and gracefully began to brush her dark flowing hair again, this time letting him see her pure beauty openly.

For a short while, Arwen was safe.


	12. What love makes you do

12. What love makes you do

Aragorn's gaze flickered over to where the elf was walking lightly along in the snow, her face still hidden but not from him. He sighed helplessly and turned back, staring into the thick cold night. He knew who that elf-maiden was, and it was irritating his conscience.

When he had been washing her wounds the night before, he had needed to give her some more of his special drink from the Coilas leaves. She had swallowed it fine, but then she had suddenly stopped breathing. He had _had_ to take her hood completely off her face, no matter what his heart told him to do, otherwise she would have died.

His own heart had almost stopped as his eyes fell on the beautiful face beneath him.

She was Arwen, his most beloved, so pale and so pure, lying there before him. Aragorn had given her the kiss of life to make her breathe again, and his love had poured out to her, as sweet and as gentle as she had been the day he had first seen her. Her eyes were still closed gently, and so silently he had just watched her face, gazing wistfully at her delicate body, so thin and fragile. He could see she had gone through so much to reach him, and she was in great pain just so that she could be near him, seeing his face once more.

And yet he had broken his word, he had taken the veil off her face and he had seen her for who she really was. It had not been completely his fault but he had still done it, and she still believed right now that he didn't know who she was, only a fictional elf by the name of Ithiluin. Aragorn's heart gave another pang and his throat tightened. He could not tell Arwen he knew. It would be so unfair. She knew now that they were going to battle, and that this would be his first real test at his leadership and command skills in fighting. He knew that she wouldn't want to distract him from this, and risk being held to a knife. He knew that Arwen wanted to wait until they were safe, and they could be together without any worries disturbing their love.

And so he wouldn't break her heart.

Aragorn turned to watch her again, her outline clear against the startling white of the snow and her dark cloak, an even deeper shade than the night they were struggling through. He had ordered Calosin to stay with her at all times, not telling him why, but just suggesting that it was because she was still very weak. He would gladly have helped her himself, carried her every single step of the way, but he knew it would look very suspicious, and he didn't believe lords were meant to do things like that. Slaves usually did, but Aragorn was not that full of himself. No, Calosin was fine, and the two of them were also staying very near him. He had an inkling it was because Calosin did not want to find that if she fell over or she somehow got hurt, he would not have to find his lord through the dense group of toiling Rangers.

Suddenly Aragorn felt Arwen's gaze fall on him, and he hurriedly turned away, feeling his cheeks redden embarrassedly. He also turned his thoughts away, trying to focus on other things, like timings and conditions, generally dull things which had to be dealt with in a battle. But his mind just kept falling back, always thinking about Arwen. She was far more interesting, to say the very least. But he couldn't get her out of his head. The picture of her peaceful face was centred in his vision, her smooth features imprinted on his eyes, impatient yearning sensations jumping through his body. He couldn't help it. He was stuck on her.

After a long few hours Aragorn decided to halt the party. He was mentally exhausted from trying not to think about Arwen and fighting with his heart, and he knew that the work that everyone was doing was getting harder. The path had become narrower as they climbed, the group elongating, but although less people had to literally swim through the snow at the front, it was very tough. And even the others did not have it easy, for the snowdrifts let them sink in easily, and he was now pushing them to go faster. It was high-time they rested for a little, even just twenty minutes or so, and he would be grateful for the stop himself.

Within a few moments, some Rangers had been sent throughout the group, calling for a short rest and time to eat something refreshing. The men huddled against the cliff wall for shelter, the blizzard shooting past them like sharp knives and biting at their cheeks. Aragorn slipped out of the mad rush for the protection of the rocks and moved slightly further up the slope, along with a few friends. As they sat down together, he noticed Arwen's slim form opposite him with Calosin, and Aragorn tried not to bring his eyes down upon her too much. He took out some few remaining elven way-bread cakes, passing them round to delighted friends. Their taste was still sweet, warm like the honey from beehives in sunny meadows, a wonderful essence.

But unfortunately, it only made him think of Arwen more, reminding him of her own Lembas she had made for him once. After giving up on a strained conversation with Halbarad, Aragorn got up and left the group, deciding to go for a short walk by himself.

He wandered away up the hill, vanishing in the strange world of snow. He weaved his way up to a secluded place encircled by tall fir-trees, iced with sprinkles of snowflakes. He was not far from the others, but it was fine for him. He just needed the time to be alone.

Collapsing in the middle of a cold heap of snow, Aragorn sat down and stared at his own knees, wondering what to do. He wished he could just tell her, but he had to wait for her to make the first move. Anyway, he had to work out how to order the battle. He knew it would be tomorrow, tomorrow night, for they would not reach the top of the mountain this morning, but after a short advance they would arrive, and surely be greeted by a horde of angry orcs. Not what Aragorn felt like dealing with at the present, nor did he ever, but he had to do it, if only for Arwen's sake.

He realised he had been fingering something and turning it over in his hands. Looking down, he saw what it was. He had just been in Gondor, fighting for the Steward in the constant warfare with Mordor. Highly in favour there, as a reward Aragorn had asked for some mithril. Only a small amount, but it was so valuable, and the people in the City had gazed at him in awe, knowing this prize he had taken. The amount it was worth was immeasurable.

And so it was perfect for Aragorn's wish. He was making it into a beautiful hair-clip for Arwen, a small beacon of hope in his despair it had been, always there to remind him of her. It lay in his cupped hand, only as long as his middle finger, misting up in the cool temperatures. Carefully he had shaped it, not quite recognisable at the moment, but when he melted the colours on, then his skills in craft would be shown to their full potential. Inside his pocket he had the special powders, green, deep blue, magenta and sky blue. He had not had them long, only when he had passed through Lórien had his friend Kelmeleth given them to him. He had met him a few times before, and he thought he was another wonderful elf, except he had something exquisite about him, some lively glimmer which could not help but shine through his happy face. With a strange look in his eyes he had given them to Aragorn one evening when he was on his watch on the city's walls. Aragorn had not known why, but he seemed to know more than he had told him.

Suddenly Aragorn saw a shadow move in front of him, and he looked up in shock, hiding the mithril back in his pocket. Immediately he drew out his sword, but then a clear laugh came out of the darkness, and the figure knelt down in the snow. Then he saw – it was Arwen. Her fair face was still hidden in her long cloak, but he could tell she had come to him with a purpose, even if it was just to watch him. Aragorn sheepishly put his sword back in his scabbard, repeatedly apologising to her whilst she sat down.

"Don't worry," she whispered. Aragorn suddenly found she was much nearer to him than she had been just a second ago. He watched her shiver as she sat in the snow, obviously still very vulnerable from her fall off the cliff.

"Come here," he said softly, and he placed his hands gently around her waist, and lifted her onto his lap. He heard her tiny sigh as she leant against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her small body, shielding her from the wind with his own cloak. This wasn't too bad, Aragorn thought. He could cope like this. Listening to her breathing, he felt her light weight on his legs, and he found it so comforting to have her with him again.

She shifted a little, and then suddenly Aragorn's cloak blew off his shoulders in a great gust of wind. Crying out, he put Arwen down in the snow, and ran after it, finally catching hold of it twenty metres away. It was soaked thoroughly but Aragorn squeezed out the cold water as he walked slowly back to where Arwen was sitting, wringing the cloak in his bare hands. He found that she was laughing quietly at him when he returned. A smile crept up his face.

"What's so funny, Ithiluin?" he asked, his voice turning up at the end. She didn't say anything but kept on giggling, huddled up in the snow. Aragorn kept his sodden cloak in one hand and he held the other out to her, pulling her up with it. As she brushed the snow off her dark cloak Aragorn attempted to put his own on, wrapping it round his shoulders. He found the strings to tie it back on, but it was in an awkward position on his left shoulder where he just couldn't see it. He saw Arwen lean in closer as he struggled to tie it on, her gentle breath mingling closely with his frustrated one.

"Let me," she said softly and took the leather threads from his hands. Her dark blue sleeves fell back from her fingers to her wrists and she skilfully began to tie them together. She did it quite slowly however, even though she knew exactly how to tie and elvish knot. Aragorn saw that she was pressing her fingertips firmly into his shoulder, loving touching him, but he just knew she was wishing that she could hold him closer. She made the threads twist together so that they were far from each other at the top, but by the end the tips met and looked just like a perfect elvish jewel.

Suddenly Arwen realised Aragorn was looking at her hands strangely. She immediately drew them away and let the long sleeves fall over loosely, concealing them completely.

"Are your hands cold?" Aragorn asked, trying to trick her into thinking that he had recognised her hands and he wanted to look at them again. He moved forward and reached for her hidden fingers.

"No…no…" she stumbled over her words, also blindly stepping backwards. But he kept following her.

"Ithiluin, why then did you move away from me?" He came right up to her and suddenly tried to grasp her wrist. Arwen gave a little squeak and quickly twisted away from his outstretched hands. She looked behind to see him smiling with a little light in his grey eyes and giggled at him. He tried to pounce on her again but she ran off, leaving light imprints barely resting in the snow.

Laughing, Aragorn chased after her, watching the wind press the normally loose cloak against her slim body. She ran very fast, even compared to a fleet-footed elf, and also she was injured badly. So there was absolutely no hope of him catching her, especially when he was blundering through the deep snow and she was as light as the wind running over the surface.

But up ahead, Aragorn saw her stop and heard her coughing badly. He soon came up to her, where she was doubled over, but she stood up as she heard his movements nearby. Aragorn saw her shrink back, but he held out an arm and brought her close to his body. He could feel how fragile and thin she was, someone so helpless there in his arms. She leant against his chest tiredly and relaxed in the one man's arms who loved her so dearly.

Aragorn brought his eyes nearer and leant closer to her hidden face. He was just about to pull the veil off Arwen when there was a loud shout from just behind him.

"ARAGORN!" he swivelled round, afraid to be seen like this, so close to Arwen. He found Emathar laughing at him. "Aragorn! Really now!"

He looked down, knowing that it looked full well that he had been about to kiss her. But she had already gone from his arms, and as he raised his eyes in confusion he saw her figure quickly slipping away into the snowy trees. In despair he looked back at Emathar.

"Aragorn! You should know better than to pull an elf!" He tutted but grinned at Aragorn at the same time, before wandering off to organise the other Rangers.

Aragorn was now left on his own again in the swirling mists of the snow. He didn't really mind that Arwen had run away from him. But wasn't it funny, he thought with a slight smile on his face, that both of he and Arwen were pretending that they didn't know each other?

xxxxxx

Arwen shivered in the icy cold but still crawled out of the tent. The weak sun was struggling to be seen through the thick snow-clouds, and she couldn't sleep at all even though she felt tired. Last night she had been so exhausted that she had fallen over when they had still been walking along.

They had travelled for even longer than normal as well, because Aragorn had wanted to be nearer to the mountain peak in order that the next evening – this evening – they would not have a long journey to do before they attacked the Nhaxûn orc tunnels. But Arwen had been so worn out that Calosin had carried her the rest of the way, and almost immediately she had fallen into a deep sleep. Yet out of the corner of her eye, she had seen that Calosin had not just chosen to carry her himself, but Aragorn had specifically asked him to do so, believing she was not watching him. He was so sweet!

Arwen smiled and decided to go for a little wander around their silent camp. And she had not been totally sure either that the slumber she had fallen into was completely natural. She had a slight suspicion that Aragorn had had something to do with that too.

She pulled her cloak tighter around herself and slowly began to walk through the sea of beige tents. Wondering which one Aragorn's was, she felt her stomach twist uncomfortably as she thought about telling him. She couldn't, she really couldn't. That horrible battle was so near and if she revealed herself to him now, everything was sure to go wrong and all he would be able to think about would be her. Arwen sighed painfully. But he was so gorgeous! He was so kind to her, she knew he cared for her so much, and she wouldn't even allow him to see her face! What sort of person was he? _Such a brilliant one_, Arwen thought, as she stumbled out into a clear space of snow.

There was nothing around for a long way here, just a wide expanse of snow, gently sloping upwards. Not even any birds were flying across the pale sky or pecking at the snow, it was completely bare.

Or was it?

In the far mid-distance, Arwen thought she saw a flicker of light, light which was not just the sun reflecting off the snow. Maybe someone had dropped a sword or a buckle there, she supposed as she squinted at it, and then decided to go and have a look. Every so often, it would disappear, as if something moved over it, and then shine out again. Arwen cautiously walked over the smooth snow, only tiny imprints now left behind, almost straight away covered by another shower of cool snowflakes.

Suddenly Arwen saw what it was. Someone was sitting by a little fire with their back to her, and doing something which she could not see. Now her footsteps fell in with the man's own, much deeper and obviously heavier than hers. She crept closer, directly behind him, not wanting him to see her yet. She wondered what on earth he was doing, when everyone else was asleep and he was meant to be too.

The man suddenly flinched, and Arwen stopped immediately, seeing him move his head as if he had heard her. She held her breath as he paused, listening hard; and he then turned back to the fire again. Arwen breathed out slowly, her relief etched into it. That was close. Softly she trod forwards once more, sweeping over the snow like a mere shadow, and quieter than the wind. Every single sound she made he would clearly hear.

Arwen hardly dared breathe as she stood behind the man, barely a metre away from him. He was sitting on the snow, holding something in the top of the flames. She frowned and moved her head to the right, straining to see what it was. The man drew it out of the hot fire and held it to his face, examining it intently. Arwen now saw it was something silver, very shiny and milky-looking, as if there was moonlight running through the actual metal. It was very beautiful. She wondered how a Ranger would come by such delicacies which only kings and nobles now seemed to own.

The man moved again, and immediately Arwen saw he was Aragorn. She felt her heart leap up again and she could sense that she was smiling, even though she had not specifically meant to. His long hair fell forward as he shifted himself closer to the orange flames, holding the small object delicately in his rough fingers.

Arwen inched closer as she curiously watched him bring out a tiny pouch. Very gently he poured out some blue powder – a lovely colour even deeper than the blue of a hot summer's day sky. With his fingertips he nudged the azure dust into a small circle in the centre. Once Aragorn seemed satisfied he gingerly held it in the fierce glow of the fire, watching the colour melt onto the silver metal. Arwen saw this hesitantly – this was the kind of craft elves did, not men. Aragorn had grown up with her own father, she knew that, but he would never have been shown how to do something like this. Arwen wondered who had told him.

Next she saw Aragorn pour some warm pink powder in a circle around the blue. Arwen loved that colour – a luscious magenta which brightly lit up anything – absolutely _anything_. He held this back in the fire and patiently observed it as the dust melted and turned to a glowing moat around the blue island. Arwen enjoyed watching him, it was just the kind of thing Kelmeleth used to like to show her, especially when he had been younger. Come to think of it he may have showed her exactly this.

Arwen then recognised the shape of the object – there were the two circles, one containing the other, and then two wings stretched out from either side of the blue disk in the centre. Aragorn tipped a sweet green powder onto both these wings and again he let it melt into swirling rivers on the metal, which surprisingly did not seem to be getting hot at all in his fingers.

When this green liquid had cooled down, Arwen saw Aragorn take out one last packet and pour out its contents into his cupped hand. Arwen moved around in frustration as he covered it with his other fingers. Then when he began to pinch it onto the middles of the green wings she saw what it was. A lighter water-blue powder, a very pretty colour, but also in it were little jewels; Arwen could not quite see what, but she knew that they would certainly have not been easy to come by. Aragorn really must have done something important to have been rewarded like that.

Once Aragorn had put all the light blue powder and the shiny crystals along the wings, for the last time he held his silver object in the fire. Arwen watched in fascination as the gems shone so brightly in the heat that they gave off white light. When she had blinked the piercing spots out of her eyes, she saw that they had melted into the powder, and now both were at the same level. Aragorn carefully took it out and blew along the top. Arwen had been expecting ripples to echo along the wet surface, but already it had set.

Aragorn held his prize up to the weak sunlight and now Arwen really saw how beautiful it was. The colours brought each other to life, and the tiny streams of the metal wound their way among them, the light which caught it flowing through in a milky silver gleam. The jewels glistened and sparkled, winking sweetly at her and just yearning to be touched.

As Aragorn brought it back down to inspect it closer, Arwen sighed and wondered what he was going to do with it. She hoped he would keep it for himself, for it was so fascinating, it seemed to have a power all of its own.

Arwen suddenly realised she should leave. She didn't want Aragorn to see her; not this time. He had obviously wanted to be alone. She took one last glance at him, rubbing his thumb over the smooth surface in satisfaction, and then slowly started to walk back across the plain of snow, the picture of that lovely object still glimmering intensely in her mind. When she reached the first few tents, Arwen turned back to look once more at Aragorn sitting by his tiny fire. But instead she saw him turn around and gaze over the expanse of snow, not noticing Arwen, and wearing a puzzled frown.


	13. The Battle

13. The Battle

"My lord!"

Aragorn shot up and his eyes fell immediately upon Emathar, his face pale and panic-stricken in the poor light. "My lord; they're here!"

"Who's here?" he replied slowly, standing up and feeling a sickening sensation slip through his body. Emathar stared wide-eyed at him, and suddenly Aragorn noticed he was shaking nervously.

"The orcs!" he cried, and then swallowed with much difficulty. "The Nhaxûn orcs!"

Aragorn looked around him, seeing the whole camp in disarray in the grey daylight. Men were running all over the place, dismantling tents and hurriedly forcing belongings into their rucksacks. Anxious whispers were echoing across the still air, sounding far louder than they would normally be.

"How long have you known this, Emathar?" he asked, quickly pushing a blanket into his own bag and tying the strings together in a fast not.

"Only just now, my lord. The watchmen have seen disturbances not far up the mountain. It seems we are nearer to the peak than first portrayed, and the entrances to the weaving lairs of the orcs are apparently very close."

"Thank you, Emathar." Aragorn left his friend and ran through the stirring camp. Just when he needed Calosin and Halbarad, neither one of them appeared. As he passed groups of men, he urged them to be armed and ready in a matter of minutes, sending the word round quickly. He could sense their apprehension but he knew once the time came… well, they would be fine.

He spotted the back of a man with light russet hair and heard its accompanying voice.

"Halbarad?" he called and the man turned to face him. Aragorn sighed with relief.

"What's the matter, my lord? Everything is under control, so far. Nothing has gone wrong." In concern he moved forward and placed his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "Has it?" he whispered.

Aragorn glanced around to check that no one was nearby. "Halbarad, where are Calosin and the elf-maiden? She will be in great danger when, when, you know…" he trailed off and Halbarad nodded understandingly. He too looked away, wide of Aragorn's face.

"I have not seen Calosin for a while, I am afraid," he said, meeting again Aragorn's eyes. "But I did see _her_." Aragorn's gaze thickened. "Not very long ago, she was outside, away from the tents. I saw her come back, constantly checking very cautiously that nobody had seen her." Aragorn could not understand why Arwen had not been asleep. She was still ill, and no way should she have been up when there was seemingly no one to guard her. She could have been hurt, she could have been-

"Find Calosin," he ordered hoarsely. "We must find her." Halbarad nodded and turned away. But Aragorn suddenly laid a hand on his arm and pulled him back. "_Please,_" he said.

Aragorn fled among the growing number of people, a mass blocking his way and his chance to spot the two people he so desperately needed to find. Struggling under arms and between bodies he squeezed his way through the middle and strained for any hopeful sight at all. It looked to him as if Arwen had vanished, and if she had, it would be most definitely into a barricade of hungry orcs. He cringed as he swam through the men, trying to make himself believe she was here. It also looked as if Calosin had disappeared, but he was probably just hiding so that he could get out of leading some of the Dunedain into battle.

But finally he caught sight of Calosin on the edge of the crowd. Typically he was chatting to someone, when it was actually his duty to order their party as most discreetly as possible. He was most certainly _not_ doing that now (not even the discreet bit).

"Calosin! Calosin!" Aragorn yelled and ran over to him. Calosin pulled through the crowd and met Aragorn halfway. "Calosin; have you seen Ar-… err, Ithiluin?" Calosin stared blankly up at Aragorn. "Speak!" he shouted again, his heart now racing five times its normal rate.

"Umm, no, my lord. But why are you so worried?" he looked at Aragorn expectantly, who turned away, not hearing his friend's question and searching his eyes hopelessly through the sea of Ranger bodies.

Calosin resigned to muttering to himself, seeing as he was not going to be listened to by Aragorn. "Well, I suppose she is extremely beautiful…"

"WHAT?" Aragorn exclaimed. "You've seen her!" Now this was a surprise.

His friend glanced away unsurely, trying to not be ashamed, obviously because he thought Aragorn had still not found out what she looked like. "Maybe…" he trailed off, refusing eye-contact completely. Then he suddenly came back, fiercely defending himself. "_But,_ she _is_ very pretty."

"Well of course she is, Calosin!" Aragorn shouted. "She is Arwen Undómiel, Evenstar of the elves, Lady of Rivendell and granddaughter of Galadriel! Of course she is going to be beautiful!" He sighed and immediately felt his throat tighten. She was here and a band of orcs were marching to them right now, and he had to stop them murdering her.

Wherever she happened to be.

"Calosin, you must help me find her!" he said, staring wildly around them. Receiving no reply, he looked back to find Calosin's eyes round and full of shock, and his mouth half-open as if he was contesting to win the goldfish prize in a fancy-dress party.

"Calosin!" He shook his friend violently and dazed he looked into Aragorn's eyes, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"Yes, certainly, anything, my lord," he replied, standing up wobbly as Aragorn dropped him in the snow. "Definitely, without doubt, don't worry in the slightest-"

"Then stop wittering on and help me find her!" Aragorn ran off. He decided he would weave his way through the men and surely someone would know where Arwen was. She couldn't just vanish from their camp with nobody spotting her. How difficult could it really be to find her and hide her in safety?

Suddenly there was a harsh, strangled-sounding call let off into the air. Aragorn's eyes flickered unsurely up to the summit of the mountain, from where now a large sound was echoing. Then a haunting silence lay around. The sun was reflecting piercingly off the brilliant-white snow and so Aragorn shaded his eyes carefully with his hand.

And then he saw. Hundreds of big, black, bulging orcs standing up over the edge, their evil faces leering down at them. They brandished thick, barbed blades coated in some repulsive reddish-brown gunge and held them triumphantly in the air as they looked over their prey with glinting red fire eyes. For a second no body dared speak as the horde gurgled once more in their crude and sordid grunts.

But then Aragorn shouted out and tore his eyes away from the awful sight. "Man your positions, people of the West! Halbarad's men, follow him to the east; to the west, those lead by Calosin! The last third come with me through the middle towards the cliff-path!"

They were all his men really, but Aragorn liked to give his two friends more authority. He wasn't one for taking all the credit.

Immediately the Rangers sprang into action and ran to their captains, lining up in ranks. The fear washed away and instead hope and courage leapt up. Aragorn himself sprinted right to the front and kept a watchful eye on the happenings above. For the moment no volleys would waylay their advance, and if they were lucky his men would be able to ascend the steep road quickly and be sheltered by the bows of the east and west groups.

As soon as he reached the foot of the slope his men were all in line and waiting for his orders. Aragorn turned around, his hand falling threateningly to the hilt of his sword. He refocused on the black mass at the peak of the snow and immediately spotted their commander. He was practically impossible to miss.

He was the blackest black ever imaginable, a massive, fat body hanging over the cliff-edge, waddling around in front of the orc legions. His dress was a ripped costume which looked rather like moulding feathers and a blood-congealed mess, and a huge belt wrapped around his disgustingly overweight belly which made his Rangers wrinkle their noses horribly. But it was what he had on his head which was most disturbing. It seemed to be a skull, a big, grimy, curved bone fixed over his head. Red eyes stabbed out through the eye-sockets and a dark nose hooked out of the place a normal nose should have been. Aragorn shivered. He had absolutely no idea what creature that skull-thing had come from, and he sincerely hoped that the insides of it had been cleaned out before that revolting orc had jammed it on its head. Or maybe in fact he hoped they hadn't.

He turned to see rows of orcs appearing further behind the others up there against the contrasting but still depressing grey sky. Aragorn knew if those orcs were ready when they attacked, it would make the situation very sticky, to say the least. And maybe even in more ways than one.

Aragorn swivelled round. "Bows up!" He yelled. In one generous movement the four hundred or so Dunedain all lifted up their bows and flipped an arrow into place. Their keen, hardened faces were fixed up on the mountain ridge, searching for a good target. Aragorn observed them in content, and then, discreetly taking a knife from its sheath, he faced the orc mass above them again. They appeared to be having a few problems with who went where and the fat leader was in a bit of a state. Aragorn suppressed a grin. Now was perfect.

"Dunedain, Men of the West, now is the time to fight for your people, for the good of the world, for the beauty around us, for the love in your hearts! Do not stop until you have freed yourselves and your families, by destroying this evil! So now let us fight!" Aragorn turned from his Rangers back up to the top of the snow-ridge.

"Ready…" he focused on an especially ugly orc. "And… FIRE!"

Aragorn hurled his knife and then ducked down, watching the mass of arrows swarm up the mountain like a band of bees and sting the unprotected orcs. A united orcish-shriek went up in anger and the noise of weapons hurriedly being drawn sounded in the air.

"Again!" Aragorn shouted, and the bows were loaded in seconds. "Fire!" He knelt down in the snow, looking at his men behind him as their faces showed their delight of scoring their targets.

Suddenly, a shower of daggers rained down on them, and the Rangers stooped low in hope of the missiles avoiding them. But some men never got up again.

Aragorn turned his eyes away from the bodies. It was always tough like this. "Fire!" he commanded, and then as the arrows swooped over him, he called to Halbarad.

"Cover my men while we ascend!" In the mid-distance he saw Halbarad nod his head in agreement. On his other side he saw Calosin getting his group ready to fire another time.

"Quickly now!" Aragorn called to his men. "Follow me!" He began leaping up the slope as more cascades flew over them, a battle in the air. Running to the rugged rock wall he became sheltered, and as more Rangers joined their line Aragorn was able to move faster. The white road was narrow and curved upwards round a large point and the men marched on five-abreast. As Aragorn met the corner, he slowly looked back down below where the main body of the Dunedain was. The Nhaxûn orcs showed no sign of realising that his one hundred and fifty men had vanished out of sight. He saw the men let loose another volley, the first row immediately kneeling down as they fired their arrows, the next row shooting, then the next, and the next, and so on, a huge wave movement, and a very professional and effective way of doing it. Aragorn smiled. They might just do this.

Instructing his followers, Aragorn ran on, them swiftly chasing on his tail. He gazed up as the road flattened out a bit more, and wound up to the ridge. There were three more corners until the top, and he guessed they would be met on the second one. They advanced further, silently passing over the compressed snow, hiding close to the mountain. Slipping round the bend, they used their stealth to progress right up to the end of the steep strait. Then they halted.

Aragorn fixed his eyes on his men, a warning light kindling in them. Without any sound he indicated to their knives and they drew them out in white flashes. He nodded, and then beckoned them forward, so that he could melt in with the first ranks. Gripping the handles of each of his knives tightly, then he mouthed to the others 'one', 'two'…

And on 'three' as one great body they charged around the bend, immediately crashing into a wall of orcs. Amid loud cries the fighting suddenly started, knives slashing all around him, maces swinging down, and bodies falling. Aragorn attacked the nearest orc, quickly bringing one knife up to halt the black pike. As the foul being snarled in anger Aragorn stabbed him in the stomach with his left knife, before shoving him down and jumping on to another. He parried the orcs again and again, always putting up a defence before bringing a sharp end to their misery. The Rangers were caught up in a tide of orcs, hammering pikes always near their skins, but they could fight well, and there was no worry.

Aragorn shouted to his friends, urging them to start progressing further up the mountain slope. He could already see signs of Calosin's men joining the grisly tumult, and so it was best just to reach the stronghold, right at the top, and end it sooner than it might otherwise. A large orc suddenly landed on top of him, and he fell to the white floor under its weight, the slimy body very heavy. He groaned as his knees bent and his back ached. But as he touched the snow Aragorn thrust his knife into the body above him. Before the dead weight lolled over completely onto him, Aragorn rolled out of the way and jumped up, catching another orc between the legs and sending him squealing to his death.

The amount of orcs was growing bigger. Hundreds of red eyes were glinting amidst the black merging bodies, all trying to reach his Dunedain and combat them. Aragorn had known they would have about four to one, but his men could cope with that. It was just now, he wasn't really sure if there were more than the two thousand orcs than they had first known about. It would be sheer numbers certainly rather than skill if they were overwhelmed. But Aragorn hoped they wouldn't.

He fought on, resisting the amount of attacks placed on him by the orcs who were keen to kill him as the leader. There was always something to be afraid of, one mace tumbling down the centre, and one sharp pike shooting out at his side. Aragorn ducked down, slicing at one orc's legs and tripping the other up with its body. He grabbed the fallen mace and threw it at another approaching creature, ramming it into his head.

Aragorn called his men on, and gradually over an hour or so they managed to steadily climb the slope, turning the bend and coming in sight of the peak. Arwen had vanished completely from his mind. Now Aragorn could see some arrows of Halbarad's men still firing at the orc lines positioned on an adjoining ridge, but now that they were so close there was still loads of fighting. Aragorn was finding it quite difficult fighting and maintaining control over his Rangers. There was always a friend to help him behind, but fenced in on three sides by savage orcs with sharpened weapons pointing his way was not totally encouraging.

An especially large orc planted itself in Aragorn's path. As the dented pike was thrust towards his neck, Aragorn halted its path with his two knives. The orc pulled a face but all Aragorn did was slide one knife down and stab it into the orc's stomach. As it tumbled below Aragorn stole the pike and, two more orcs rushing to take the first's place, hurled it at them. The pike shot through both, spearing them like toasted bread on a stick (except this was rather more painful).

Suddenly a cackling orc leapt on top of him. Aragorn twisted and rammed his left knife into the black squirming body, pleased to be killing such a violent specimen. But as the orc struggled for his last breath, he dragged his sharp armour over Aragorn's hand and lurched to one side, wrenching his arm and making him cry out. Instinctively he pulled his knife quickly out, but now his hand was bleeding and his wrist ached uncomfortably.

Aragorn decided it was time to draw out his sword. Such thick battle made knives a bit tricky, and with his wrist like this now… well, his shiny steel sword needed to see daylight, however dark the late afternoon was. With a scraping noise adding to the clamour of orcs and men, his long sword appeared out of nowhere and immediately slashed over an orc's body. Then Aragorn stepped further forward, meeting a horrifically scarred black creature. Twice their swords met, but on the third time, Aragorn spun round, breaking the pattern, and dug the blade into the orc. Sweat pouring down his tired body, Aragorn encountered two more orcs. He clashed swords with one, ducking under the other's blow, and then dug in his left hand's knife, before the surprise reached the other orc and Aragorn's sword sliced off his neck.

Aragorn staggered forward, exhaustion beginning to etch away at his muscles, his arms heavy with the dynamic action eyes stinging from straining to catch sight of his men and the orcs on the snow-ridge. Every time he finished off one, another came, and then maybe two, or three. It didn't matter how many orcs he tricked by parrying swords with them three times and then wounding them, there were always more to attack him.

Two massive orcs jumped into his path, dragging down even more the heavy leaden feeling in his tummy. Aragorn tripped one up with his sword, stabbed the following orc with his blood-coated knife and then finally shoving his sword into the fat clumsy orc's back. As he did so something clung to his foot and Aragorn stumbled, also having a mace whizzing closely by his ear. In anger he swung round instantly, swiping off the offending orc's head with the repulsive bulging insides of the orc lurching out as it plummeted down right in front of his nose.

And as he tore his glance away in anguish, Aragorn suddenly saw her. There above him, standing on the highest peak of the mountain, his dearest Evenstar, his Arwen. The icy wind ran through her flowing ebony hair as she dealt swift strokes with her curved blade, orcs tumbling down rapidly her as if such beauty could not be harmed by that amount of evil. She fought calmly, moving as if some natural force was guiding her, a ring of white snow around her light feet showing where she had stayed safe.

Aragorn stood transfixed as he looked at her, everything falling completely silent and the horrifying slaying encircling him far, far away. It was just like a dream to him as he watched her slender body moving while she evaded sharp blows, her gentle face pale and smooth, her lips a pallid pink colour, her blue eyes cold and shielded, and her delicate eyebrows were held in such a sad expression that that alone could have moved Aragorn to tears. The image was so unrealistic, so fair and so terrible, he felt his throat tighten and his heart call out to her.

In almost the same instance, Aragorn saw Arwen bring down the last deadly smite and pull her eyes away from where they had been focused, making him positive she had sensed him there and watching her. In what seemed as long as an age she slowly turned round to face him, her eyes following her sword and falling down on him. Aragorn nearly cried out from his emotion, the heightening of his love for her pulsating quickly throughout his tired body, purifying his mind and holding his heart. She gazed into his own eyes, so beautiful as she stood there, a shimmering figure so dreamlike with the blazing sun piercing through the storm clouds above her, a beacon of light in his faint hopes. Her invisible touch seemed to reach right inside him; she took away his breath and she stole his love. She was untouchably beautiful, her fluttering hair softening her gentle face, her smooth features a treat to look at, her eyes twinkling as she met his, deep and yet so sad, moving something inside him strangely. He wanted to show her his irresistible love for her, that he would do anything to keep her safe. He wanted to bring her happiness. He wanted to hold her in his arms. Aragorn felt himself crying out inside, _he just needed her_.

Arwen shivered and her lips parted, the intenseness between their echoing eyes overpowering. Tears watered in her eyes as he fell further into her, feeling their mirrored affection reaching out from his heart to hers, from hers to his. He saw nothing but her, felt nothing but her gaze inside himself, heard nothing around them at all. She was everything, nothing could be without her, so perfect, so attractive, and so touching… he slid more and more into her sapphire eyes, his love for her pouring out whilst hers filled him up, her life mingled with his; until he finally found her soul, crying out to his, pleading for his hot passion and openly handing him hers.

Out of nowhere suddenly a sword lashed out and struck Arwen to the ground. Her scream knocked Aragorn senseless as she fell down, her agony and pain bursting unbearably through her yell. She disappeared out of sight as he discovered that he could not breathe, his body numb, his blood run cold. Then suddenly a picture of Arwen lying dead, white and splashed with red, filled his mind. He gasped and then looked up, realising that he had to save her, if no one else could.

Leaping up the steep slope, he shot into a mass of seething orcs, all clamouring for a chance to kill. In a violent fervour he cut the cold air with his sword, black bodies dropping down like ugly flies. He moved quickly and strongly, fighting for one reason, holding onto one thing. Slash slash down, one dropped to his own feet, ting then stab, another one fell down onto his knees, crash flash bash dash swipe, at last that one came to lay with the other festering bodies. More stepped out to greet him as he tried to wind up the path, looming out in front as he swung his blood-congealed sword out to them.

Some were easier than others, some resigned to his skill, and some were fierce and resistant, challenging him till their last; but in all their sheer number was overwhelming. Aragorn felt the exhaustion pulling him down, begging him to stop and rest, tearing at his every weary limb; yet he had to keep going, running as he slew, dodging as he stabbed, cutting as he weaved in and out and under all the bulging black mass raging around him. He shouted out with a note of panic in his voice for more men to come and help him, but only a handful seemed to be within earshot and all were having great troubles themselves.

And as every second past he knew Arwen was growing weak, her wound ripping through her body, her flame of life guttering out. He wept as he struggled on, his face soaked in blood and sweat, his throat choking and his arms aching. He couldn't let her die, he couldn't. He had to fight on, keep running, keep slashing at the orcs, and keep going until he reached her. Hatred arose in his heart; those foul creatures had harmed his Evenstar, his jewel, his love, his life. They deserved what they were getting, every single bit of him, his bite crueller than his look, his strength stronger than his energy; and it was certainly costing him.

But would he reach Arwen in time? He staggered up to the peak, a last ring of enemies closing in around him. Swinging his sword a revolting corpse fell down, followed by another, though now he was trapped inside. Aragorn ran his sword around the circle, clashing every weapon of the orcs. As he turned he spotted the dark bundle of Arwen's body out of the corner of his eye. He would save her, he would, and she would live.

Aragorn cried out and jumped forward, striking the first orc he met, throwing him to the ground, then spinning in an arc, meeting a second, missing then stabbing his awful body. He summoned up every last bit of strength he owned, charging at the creatures, combating them with everything he had. He kept on going, if it was his heart alone, slaying more and more, until he ran at the last, yelling in torment as his sword clashed against the blade, trying again, and again, and again, and then at last he sliced the orc's grim body in half and stumbled over the corpse.

He had nothing left now, he could barely move; barely even raise his head to see if Arwen was alive. Aragorn fell forward on his knees, the weight of his own body too much to bear. He crawled over to Arwen, his lungs struggling and openly panting, screaming for rest and still being forced on. He collapsed as he reached her, sitting on his knees as the scene in front broke his heart.

There she lay, a small figure in the snow, her blue cloak thrown back to reveal the awful wound in her stomach. Her body quivered as she fought to resist, her whimpers pitiful and her expression utterly distressing. Steaming tears ran down her smooth face as the rich blood pumped out of the deep cut, going so far into her tender flesh that the snow all around her waist was a sickening crimson colour. Aragorn panted her name, imploring her to stay with him. He leant forward on his elbows, taking her limp hand, and warming it between his palms. Slowly her eyes flickered open and she fixed on his, her love still reaching in through his clouded eyes.

"Estel…" she breathed, closing her eyes and squeezing more tears out. Aragorn moaned to her, praying that she would open her eyes again, desperately pulling out some athelas leaves from his pocket in hope she would be healed. But Arwen did not look at him again, and teardrops ran down his face and fell melancholy onto her bleeding gash. His shaking hand reached out and he bruised the green leaves between his fingertips as he firmly pressed them into her blood. Her chest was heaving violently and as he gently wiped the hot blood away with his fingers he saw her wound being torn even more as she did so.

"_No_…" he wept, feeling the heat on his hands escaping her body when she needed it so much. Aragorn edged over her body, keeping one hand protectively on her cut, bringing his face close to hers. "_Arwen? Please………_" With his spare fingers he stroked her dark hair out of her eyes, leaning near to her head lying in the freezing snow. He let his breath flow over her face, his warmth trying to hold her to him and not let her go. Her magenta lips trembled but he could sense her fighting to show him that she was alive.

Aragorn decided suddenly to help the process; to help her. Closing his sore eyes he leant forward, his soft lips touching hers. Gently he pressed against them, tenderly showing his passion and calling out to her frantic soul, giving her everything he could in his kiss.

When he broke away, he watched her in sorrow as more blood seeped out and soaked her velvet dress. She didn't reply, no murmured words or weak hands. He felt his eyebrows break down and push more tears out of his already dry eyes. This was too bad, far too bad for any words.

And then he saw her. Arwen opened her eyes again, immediately falling into his. She tried to smile at him, to reassure him she would be okay, but she was so tired she could only explain with the love in her eyes. Aragorn felt himself smile for her, as he gazed into her shining azure eyes, his heart so relieved she was still alive, still living, still loving…

But then Arwen's eyes broke away from his, and shot to the side, focusing on something behind him. Aragorn saw a faint change from pain to terror as she saw what was happening. He unwillingly let go of her hand and stood up, turning at the same time to face the danger.

There were even more bands of orcs. Aragorn couldn't believe his luck. Before he knew it he was dragged viciously back into fighting them again, forcing his sword against theirs, scraping down their bodies like fingernails down tree-trunks. This wasn't fair, it wasn't, he had to save Arwen, and yet here he was unable to, leaving her there alone and weak and bleeding and _dying_…

He heard some voices, not some harsh, cackling orc ones, but some strong, northern accents, his friends shouting out to him. In between orcs he tore his eyes away and chanced upon seeing dozens of his men running up the slope to him, the orcs there falling off the cliffs and dripping down from the power and suddenness of the attack. Aragorn felt a huge weight lift from his soldiers, more and more of his Rangers coming to his aid; and Arwen's. He stabbed again, sliced for the last time, felt the shudder of his sword meeting against a foe's. And then the orc dropped down, and the black band which had been around him was suddenly filled with triumphant and weary Men of the West, all sighing and leaning heavily upon their swords. They had won. Just.

Aragorn breathed out, finally knowing he could tend to Arwen and give her all the love and more which she needed, let alone deserved. He turned around on the grey-stained snow, his heart already feeling happier and freer. His eyes fell to the ground where he knew she had laid.

But Arwen was gone.

Xxx

So what do you think? PLEASE review!


	14. Klein the Orc

14. Klein the Orc

Arwen whimpered in bitter distress as her knees gave way and she collapsed onto the sharp rocky floor. The harsh tongue of the orcs echoed eerily along the dark passageway and circled around her, making her loose the dizzy sense of direction. Her legs ached and somehow she had lost her shoes, so now her feet were ripped and scratched, and bursts of vicious pain shot up fiercely when she put any weight at all on them.

A whip lashed down on her small body and as Arwen squealed from the biting shock an outburst of cruel laughter erupted. Then she sobbed quietly to herself, moaning breathlessly, and curled up as best as possible when her hands had been bound tightly behind her back and were cutting into her bare wrists.

"Get up!" an uptight orc commanded, striking out at her again. But Arwen had no strength left, none at all to bear it, and her gashed stomach was searing unbearably. The sword wound was relentlessly churning out blood, which ran down her stained dress and onto her legs. Now she was not even sure if she was crying tears or blood – it all hurt so much that it didn't make much difference.

Two clawed hands pulled her up and yanked her forward. "Do not stop!" A disfigured face waved a flame torch in front of her eyes and she cowered away in fear. The orc cackled again and grabbed her arm. "The Master is waiting! He will be _very_ pleased to see you!"

He dragged Arwen along and she gave in, letting another orc grasp her and also help. She just wanted to rest; to sleep once more and have peaceful dreams. Why had they brought her along? What more did they want? They had had their fun, teasing her and assaulting her delicate, fragile body. The pain they had given her was something she had never experienced before so badly. She felt so sick and so exhausted; her bones like thin sticks and the deep cut in her tummy stinging so much she wanted to scream. She would if she could, but she was just too weak now. Her journey in the tunnel had been scattered with plentiful blackouts, all strange blurry memories swimming nauseatingly in her eyes. They would kill her if they did much more, and if that was what they were going to do, why had they not done it when they had first caught her? What on earth could she do for them?

The tunnel suddenly opened out into a wide chamber, and Arwen narrowed her eyes in a response to the bright light. The two orcs strode forward away from the others, trailing her limp body behind them. Arwen's chin fell down onto her chest, and she semi-consciously watched her dark curtain of hair brushing over her face. She wished they would just throw her on the floor and then finally leave her alone.

There in the background was a lot of noise, orc voices and crashing of armour, grunts and clashes of weapons, so that it sounded as if it was a main hall where all the orcs were disembarking after their troublesome battle. Rough bodies were jostling against Arwen and shoving her from one side to the other. The two orcs dragging her pulled her up some large steps like a dais, and suddenly a huge silence fell around the cave, only broken by some dumb orc dropping his helmet.

Arwen suddenly felt afraid. She really did not know what they were going to do with her, but she knew she did not want to be killed. There had been so much she had wanted to have with her life, so much happiness and joy, peace and love, and all of it, every single thing, with Aragorn. This wasn't right; it wasn't fair. She had done nothing wrong and yet now the evil orcs were going to take her life away from her like this. What was the matter with them? Couldn't they see she was able to do them no harm anymore? Couldn't they see she had only been fighting so that she would be with Aragorn? Couldn't they see how vulnerable she was? All she wanted was him, his beautiful face, his soft grey eyes, his gorgeous body, his warm tenderness, his gentle love…

Arwen was dropped on the hard floor. She gave a gasp as her wound contracted, but then one of the orcs kicked her as if in meaning to say 'shut up'. Salty tears began to well in her eyes, pain from her body, pain from her heart, pain from her life. Everything seemed to hate her, everything went wrong, nothing was happy, and no one loved her; apart from Aragorn. He had always done everything for her, to try and make her happy, to make her smile, to make her feel special. It was all her fault what had happened; she should never have come, she should never have thought he would be able to have her with him along his journey. She deserved everything that was happening to her, none of it was Aragorn's fault; it was her ignorance which had made this come to be, and she should pay for it.

But she would do anything to lie in his arms once more.

"Master…" The leading orc called out and Arwen was vaguely aware of the orcs bowing before their king, or whatever he was, who was clearly on this platform. "We bring you a gift in this dark hour."

Everything was still, and clearly the orc was hoping his Master would be pleased by this news. Arwen hoped he wouldn't be. It was probably some attempt to hide that they had lost the battle against the Dunedain, and her fit Aragorn!

Arwen stared miserably at the blood issuing out of her stomach. She wondered when it would stop; probably it would keep going even after she was dead, she thought with depression. The sound of a great body getting up with difficulty reached her ears, and she found herself listening hard to its movements.

"Master, I withdrew our forces before we were beaten, and-" the orc took a breath, "-I have a prize for you."

The Master orc began to speak, in a deep, sneering, and almost disturbing voice. "Very well. Where is it? Give it to me!" Arwen immediately loathed his arrogance and pleasure in superiority over others, even if they were orcs. He hadn't even earned whatever it was, for he hadn't gone into battle like his own army. Probably he had just sat here like a pompous brat, lazy and spoilt and heartless. This had to be one of the worst orcs ever to be known.

Arwen wondered what it was that was to be given to him. The Rangers didn't have any treasures; it was known that this was the case. They had no rich clothes, or gold or jewels. In fact anything they owned was practically worthless. Orcs certainly wouldn't bring a sword, seeing as it was probably inscribed with something in Dunadaic or elvish saying 'forever I shall fight the forces of darkness and slay every single one', which would just anger them like a bumble bee. She was distantly aware of the two orcs parting around her and standing at her side. Arwen doubted whether Aragorn even had anything worth a lot. He had always said that she…

Arwen caught her breath as the realisation hit her. In the same moment she was yanked up and violently thrust forward. The sudden movement made her stumble and she felt her head swim in dizziness, and sensed her legs were yet again unable to hold her weight. But she wished to Valar she would fall over, wished that nobody would catch her, wish that she could just be happily forgotten and be happy to be forgotten, so that she would know it wasn't true.

Someone caught her.

She was the prize.

"Now what do we have here!" Arwen shivered as the silky voice washed over her and she cowered away as best as she could, despising the foul hands touching her arms. Refusing to look up she frowned while she glowered at the revolting black fingernails on the lumpy fingers that seemed to be moulding on the surface right there in front of her eyes.

"Such a beauty, Vîplot!" The Master ran his hands down her arms and Arwen scowled. "You have done well. I now name you leader of our army, seeing as Lartzin was killed. But_ this_ is priceless!" Arwen heard the orc who had captured her mutter thanks as he went back down the steps, and the other orc scraped his feet sulkily along the ground because he had been forgotten a reward.

"I see your hands are bound," the horrible orc commented, and Arwen stared down at the ground, saying to herself in her head in the most sarcastic voice she could imagine that this showed he was a complete idiot and only the most foolish person in Arda would say something as obvious and pointless as that.

A herald-orc rushed forwards, making to untie the burning cords on Arwen's wrists; but the Master jerked Arwen out of his way, scowling and saying that he would take them off. He gave an evil smile as he pushed Arwen round, forcing her to stand vulnerably with her back to him. He was clearly pleased with his prize, and not going to let anyone take it away from him or steal his wind. Although she could see nothing of him she could feel his thick, sticky fingers scraping over her soft skin, making her flinch wherever he touched her. As he tugged the ropes off her hands, he laid one hand on her buttocks, sending howling screeches of laughter up among the watching orcs. As Arwen sensed herself blush she noticed even more orcs filing into the massive room to watch her. This was _so_ unfair.

Suddenly the Master orc spun her round and she was pulled forward, pinned against this huge disgusting ragged thing which Arwen had no idea what it was. The beastly orc began touching all of her body, tracing his fingers all down her side and over her back. Arwen felt herself fuming as he treated her like this, some kind of prostitute for his game. It was not as if she had any strength to pull away, but she hated his fingers even more when the orc stroked them over her sensitive chest. Only Aragorn was allowed to do that, not this revolting random orc!

"_You_ are one gorgeous mortal," he admired. Arwen almost yelled out to be called a mortal; she was one bloody elf for Eru's sake! She hadn't thought before that orcs were this stupid. Now she also knew they had no manners either.

The Master carefully tipped her chin up, Arwen's hair falling either side of her face as she was forced to raise her eyes. She nearly screamed again as she saw what he looked like. Arwen was pressed against, not a strange wall as she had first guessed at, but his massive fat belly, so big she had never thought it possible that way. As it was she was just at arms length from his ugly face, and she had no desire to get any closer.

But the sight just made her want to throw up all over him, it was so utterly nauseating. The smug expression on his podgy pug-like grubby face repelled her even more, tiny red slits peering through folds of black fat. His chin was set into four rolls of flab, completely hiding his neck and setting heavily on his chest. The stomach was so big he could no way have put his own arms round it, and it stuck out, a round, sagging bulge of fat, over a metre in diameter. It stank awfully and Arwen was literally just amazed that anyone could get so overweight and not die from it. No way was she ever going to get any closer to the obese evil orc.

"Do you like what you see?" he asked her, a rhetorical question which Arwen thought must seriously be some kind of orc joke. If it was then she had certainly grasped orc humour by the whole. She did not meet his eyes, and was rather preoccupied by annotating how many of herselfs could fit inside him- five or six? Maybe it was something that should be left unanswered.

"I am the Master of the Nhaxûn orcs. But _you_ may call me Klein." There was a large intake of breath around the hall. This was apparently something very unusual. The orc forced her chin up further so that she had to look into his eyes. She decided to look sulky.

"What is your name, mortal?" he enquired pompously, his face perched on top of his body quite some way away. Arwen decided not to reply. She would definitely _not_ tell him her real name. He deserved nothing at all. She would bet he was full of lies himself. So she stayed silent, staring with full malevolence into his fiery eyes.

"_Fine_," he sneered, obviously never having been disobeyed before. "I shall give you a name anyway." Arwen nudged his hand off her face and glanced over behind him, sincerely hoping there was no black mark left there behind. Unfortunately he used this as a sign of wanting him to wrap his arms round her and push her even more intimately against his immense belly. She cringed as her stomach-wound gave another sear and she also realised his greasy face was focused down on her cleavage. Immediately Arwen tried to pull away but he held her closer.

"What's the matter? Aren't you happy?" he mocked, and an outburst of savage laughter shot out all around her. The Master laughed too, running his dirty finger over her bare chest.

Arwen began to feel tears of humiliation seep into her eyes. She hated this, it was even worse than being whipped and beaten and Eru-knows-what. This was breaking down her emotionally, taking everything she had, her pride, her dignity, all the things that mattered, away from her. Soon she would be left with nothing, nothing except her heart and her love for Aragorn; but what could that do in here? Even though it was the most comforting thing she could have whilst being alone with these fat orcs, it was the also the most worthless she could have. Even her dignity would do more for her here, wouldn't it?

The obese Klein orc still clung onto her, tightly against his body, with all the orcs' wills urging him on to touch Arwen very intimately. His oily hands, which matched his voice, slid down her back and clasped her behind firmly, the orcs yelling and chanting something Arwen could not and did not want to understand. It sounded horrible and it felt worse, trapped within her, aching to escape and run like the wind. Something inside was suffering so much it felt like suffocating, even though she was still managing to breathe. It entered her head that it was her spirit, crying out to be let free, begging to be released, screaming desperately for help. And her spirit was her love.

Again the movements of the defiled orc sent her almost weeping to her knees. He was accentuating his touch even more so that all the hundreds of orcs could see what he did to her. Now he brought one hand up to her bust and, holding her firmly to his belly with his other arm, he began to roughly knead her there with his black noisome fingers. The cavern erupted in top-volume screeches and hoots which hurt Arwen's ears, but that was the least of her worries. There was that mean, sordid creature howling with laughter, his whole body trembling and shaking his fat, continuing to do this dreadful thing to her. It was unbearable, she wanted to slap him full on, she wanted to rip him apart, she wanted to wring his filthy neck for doing this to her.

No words could ever explain her hatred then, the strongest abhorrence she could and would ever experience. Something like this could never be undone, could never be made right. Something like this was, it was so unbelievable, so disgusting, so dreadful, so unfair; he was using her so much like a prostitute that she could die from this, this evil… How she needed Aragorn… he was so good, she loved so much, he was wonderful to her, and she wished he was here, just once more. Even if he could not help her, heal her panging heart like he had done so many times before, she would like to be with him one more time, one last gaze, one last kiss…

The horrible orc finally released her from the torture and Arwen gasped, her body heaving as she tried to breathe properly again after suffering like this.

"Don't you know what's going to happen to you?" the Klein orc asked her, typical orcish sarcasm breaking through. More sniggering echoed through the chamber. In feigned concern the Master stroked her white cheek gently, with Arwen wishing she could tear away. She guessed they were going to torture her or something like that. This had been why they had not killed her immediately in the battle, they wanted a bit of fun with a girl. Well now they could stop!

"Oh," he said carelessly, "you're going to be my wife."

Arwen made a choking noise and blinked in shock, the fat orc's hands holding her tightly as her body wanted to crumple up on the floor. What! She hated him, she hated the guffawing orcs, she hated this place, she hated the smell, she hated their clothes, and she hated _him._ She was _not,_ repeat NOT, going to marry him. Ever ever ever!

"Don't worry," the Master said, pressing her body's imprint into his ton-weight fat. "You only have to wait until tonight." Howls of laughter pulsated into Arwen's ears, the disgusting image of the dreadful orc imprinted in her eyes, and the repulsive smell from his body stinking all around her.

Tears started to sting in her eyes, her breathing became difficult, her vision hazy. Nothing had ever gone as wrong as this. She would prefer to die than to be bonded with such hatred and filth. No one would ever find her here; nobody came up to the top of the mountain and would enter the murky depressing tunnels. She would be left to fester among the darkest evil, tied to the sickening Klein orc's heart, compelled to do his wishes.

Arwen now realised that hot tears were falling down her face, her nose hard to breathe through. Aragorn was the one she was meant to be with, the one she loved and would bind her heart to. Aragorn's soul was the one which she had fallen in love with and wished she could do anything for. She wanted to marry him, to show him that she really did care for him, that she would always look after him and care for him, whatever happened.

She was nothing without Aragorn. Her heart was in two if her Estel was not with her. Her soul ached for his, her eyes yearned to wander over his wonderfully tanned skin, her fingers strove to touch his hard muscle, her soft lips needed to press to his. Only Aragorn could ever heal her pain, only he could make her happy, only he could fill her love.

And as she closed her watering eyes, more tears pinched out of the corners, trailing down to her chin and slowly dripping off. She began to feel really sick, really tired and ill. How she would do anything for Aragorn, do anything to make him grin at her, do anything to make him sigh contentedly, do anything to make him kiss her… And then suddenly there he was in her dreams, his loving face smiling to her, whispering her name, holding her hand and leading her away…

And then there was just darkness, nice cool hazy darkness, sweeping over her, making her sleepy, taking her somewhere indiscernible. At last, some peace, some rest, some pain relief, and some freedom away from the black-hearted Klein orc…

maybe it would take her to the Halls of Mandos…

maybe it would take her home…

But maybe it would take her to Aragorn…


	15. Aragorn in the Caves

Thx so much everyone who reviewed! Hope u enjoy this one…

15. Aragorn in the Caves

Aragorn stared down at the red-stained snow where Arwen had laid. It wasn't possible; she had just been there. She couldn't merely vanish, and she was injured – badly. Aragorn shook himself in despair, falling down on his knees as if at ground level he would see her. But Arwen was not there.

"My lord; what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Aragorn didn't hear the voices clamouring around him, questioning why he had collapsed there. He was so frustrated, unable to believe that she had gone. It didn't work. _Where was she?_ He hit the firm snow in anger, pressing his face down into it. The warmth from Arwen's blood was still there.

"Aragorn? Aragorn!" Halbarad rushed up behind and jogged his shoulders, finally getting his attention. "Aragorn! What on earth is wrong? We won! You won! Be happy!" He grinned and Calosin came up behind, a cut on his cheek but smiling nonetheless.

"Aragorn…" he said, puzzlement in his voice. His eyes fell on the blood-coloured snow around him. "Have you been hurt? Aragorn!" He knelt down, carefully taking his hand.

"No…" he mumbled, watching the scarlet marks as if it might somehow bring her back. A faint buzzing filled his head, slowing down his thinking and fogging up his eyes. He did not notice Calosin beside him.

"But- NO!" Aragorn glanced up in surprise at finding his friend next to him. There was horror in his eyes as he focused on Aragorn and his pupils shrank in fear. "_No_… it _wasn't_, it _couldn't_ be…" He faded away, weakly watching him. Just as Aragorn tried to explain, his throat swelled up and made speaking difficult.

"Ye-_es_," Aragorn confirmed, his voice suddenly breaking violently. He toppled forward, lying down in the snow, crying hopelessly for his lost Evenstar. Nothing hurt more than this; nothing ever could, for they had taken her, taken her away to murder her in the long hours of screaming torture. It was even worse than seeing her before, to know what they were going to do to her… what they were doing to her now.

Aragorn choked as his fierce tears ran down into the snow beneath him, and he lifted his tormented face up from the distasteful crimson snow, struggling for breath. Suddenly, as his red watering eyes flickered around sadly, he caught sight of something lying in the fresh white snow a few feet away. He leapt forward desperately – he knew it wasn't Arwen but… there was always the hope. Grasping the dark material in his hand, Aragorn himself was not at all sure what it was. Calosin and Halbarad watched him intently, shocked at his sudden movement.

Suddenly Aragorn realised what it was. "Arwen's cloak…" he murmured, gazing at the beautiful rippling effect through the material, glistening like stars and shimmering like water under moonlight. It was so spellbinding, amazing the way it shone in his hands, seeming to hold some elven power even within itself. And in some confusing way to him, extremely like Arwen.

Slowly, very cautiously, he lifted it up to his face, leaning in to the soft silky cloth. Immediately he was filled with a very overpowering sense of Arwen, her deliciously sweet scent, so pure and delightful; and he cried out into her cloak, sobbing his heart out for her. Now she had gonegone neverto come back… AGAIN… his beautiful darling Arwen…

Aragorn whimpered unbearably as if he had been stung by something terrible, and as fiery tears ran down from his eyes he pressed his face into the sleek silken cloak, holding it gently to him, comforted by the essence of her still lingering there. She seemed to be reaching out to him there and then, so near and touching right down to his soul. And she was being tortured, _DYING…_

Calosin and Halbarad stood there, horrified at the distress of their leader. To see a full grown man crying, one who was always so brave and optimistic, full of calm and happiness, this was unnerving. It wasn't right. The heart-tearing howls cut them worse than the maces and daggers that had just attacked them. It was just plain awful.

Finally when Calosin could bear it no longer, he slowly pulled Aragorn away from the tear-covered cloak. Immediately the pain on Aragorn's face weakened his will, but he sat his friend up, asking him to stop crying. It was not easy for Aragorn, the torment upon him eating up his whole conscience.

"_Please_, Aragorn," Calosin asked, Halbarad also coming down beside them. "Don't do that, it makes me go funny." He looked up, a little astonished at the choice of words. Calosin watched him worriedly, his eyebrows knitted in concern. Aragorn swallowed his tears, wishing the soreness within him would leave.

"Listen…" Halbarad suddenly said. "Aragorn, we have to go in there after them. You told us so yourself. We can't let them regroup and multiply again, before they re-attack us as we go back down. We must chase after them. Aragorn," Halbarad put his hand on his shoulder, "go into the tunnels. Run after them. Take Arwen back."

Aragorn gazed down at the misty cloak in despair. "No… I can't do it. I can't fight the number of orcs in there all by myself. I'm exhausted as it is, but… no, not even if I was well could I do that."

Calosin spoke up. "You don't _need_ to kill them. We will come after you to the caves. Sneak in and capture her, and then as you escape back to the tunnel we will come out and ambush them. You _can_ do it, Aragorn." He fixed him under his stare and Aragorn looked away. He couldn't see how it would ever work out. So many orcs, all surrounding the maiden he loved so much – it would kill him just to see her there, inescapable from the torture.

But then, as he watched the silvery swirls in the dark material glide along and then vanish, he remembered something. Frowning, he opened up the cloak and held it out in front. When Arwen had worn it, hadn't she always seemed a little … difficult to see in the dark? At night when they had been travelling, she had almost disappeared into the black darkness around them, even though there was the contrasting white snow. Maybe, maybe she had done something to the cloak…

Aragorn shook it gently and it wavered in the air innocently. And why had he not immediately seen it when Arwen had vanished? That was odd. And – his hands shot back to his chest – shouldn't it be wet? It had lain in the snow, of course, and his tears had not been mild to say the least. But… it was dry.

He bit his lip. Arwen had made this cloak to do this, or something very extraordinary and magical. Why? And what was it meant to do? It was unearthly beautiful, yet so plain and simple to the unknowing eye. He chuckled quietly to himself, a window of hope flying out to him very fast. Arwen was so clever; she seemed to know his every need. Or was it her need, and his just happened to be the same? Or were theirs exactly the same?

Anyway, with this, he could do it. With her cloak he could rescue her, hidden by her Eldar powers and safe from evil eyes. He would save her; Arwen would live! She would be alive!

"Halbarad; where's the cave entrance? Quickly!"

His friend grinned at his ecstatic agreement. "Over there, just follow the trail. It's easy to see the opening. Go!" He pulled Aragorn up with his hand.

Aragorn inclined his head a little in thanks and began to run off after dark trail through the snow. After a moment he heard the movements of someone behind him.

"Calosin!"

"Aragorn; you must hurry." He whispered breathlessly to him. "They move fast. They are heartless. Aragorn; don't be too late." Calosin smiled grimly and firmly placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him onwards.

"We'll be after you soon, Aragorn!" Halbarad called from way back, Aragorn shooting off as fast as he possibly could. Suddenly all his weariness and heavy weight had fallen away. He was ready, ready for anything, and he would not stop, never, not until he had Arwen in his arms…

A big black hole opened up out of the rocky peak ahead of him. It was unmistakable. And un-missable – orcs were so stupid, he thought, anyone could enter it. He rushed in, looking down in the process. Just as the darkness swallowed him greedily up, he saw a flashing image. Maybe it was his imagination, maybe it wasn't. But he thought that he had seen red blood amid the grey trampled snow. Arwen's blood. She was in here.

Aragorn knocked it away. No use considering it, he had other, more important things. The way along the tunnel was not as easy as he had first assumed. The pitch black colour swallowing up the last daylight from the opening made it impossible to see ahead, so he had to trail his hands along one wall. He could not risk slamming into one and losing consciousness. It would be fatal; to Arwen.

The passageway sloped downwards, going down steadily but the floor beneath him was rough and uneven, as if even it had something against him. Aragorn scowled at it as he stumbled in his quick steps, thinking that Arwen must have found this especially difficult to walk over. In fact, he couldn't stop thinking about her. There she was, waiting for him, fighting for her life, and he must reach her. It was everything he wanted, the thing he wanted to do so badly more than anything else he had ever desired. If she died, what then? Would it be his fault? Could he live with that, always knowing he had been too late, assigning Arwen to her death?

_No_ he said firmly to himself, this was not the thing to be musing over. He ran on even faster, his chest heaving full of cool air and his heart hammering a touch painfully. But he knew it was nothing compared to Arwen's pain. Hurry hurry hurry, that was all he could do, now holding his hands straight out in front of his chest, ready to stop himself from going into a brutal wall. He had to chase them, track them all the way to the cave. Cave, or caves? He had no idea. He hoped there was not a labyrinth of them in here, or he was sure to be doomed. He would just have to wait and see.

Aragorn kept going, ignoring his body's protests to slow down. If it was possible he went even faster, always knowing what Arwen was feeling was more than his aching throbs. He must put an end to this infinite gloom, reach the light and do what his heart wanted to more than anything. Well, more than stopping anyway, and this was plenty enough.

And as if in answer to his sudden strong willpower, Aragorn noticed a faint haze appearing ahead in the rocky path. Immediately he slowed, afraid of being heard, but not scared. This is what he wanted, and here he was; finally. After a few more paces it was obvious that this was indeed the end, and the way into a brightly lit cave. About fifteen metres away Aragorn stopped altogether, hiding in the last thick shadows. He then focused his attention on the cloak in his hand, which he could only sense was there if he rubbed his fingers over it.

Silently Aragorn held it out in front of him, letting it fall out into a very recognizable elf-like shape. Reassured at its familiarity, he gracefully pulled it over himself, the material slipping over his body so elegantly he would have thought it had been made to fit him. Then as it rested draped over his hidden form he searched for the smooth cords inside which he knew tied together round the waist. He made a secure knot there, the one he had seen Arwen do on his shoulder merely hours ago. But how distant it seemed, like a story long gone in the past.

To finish it off Aragorn delicately brought the hood over his face. He had thought it would press irritatingly against his brow and nose, distracting his vision, but instead it hung lightly in front, and he could see… better? Was that right? It did not even look, or feel, as if anything was there at all. But that was Arwen's magic for you… and he smiled.

Aragorn now moved forward quietly, his hands grazing over the coarse wall as he leant into it, trying to blend in with the muddy foul-coloured stains scraped all over. For some reason he felt assured that he would be hidden, safe with Arwen's cloak, and no one would see him. There was a single sentry orc on guard at the doorway just steps away, but he wasn't doing a very good job, Aragorn thought. Instinctively his hand fell to his sword hilt, but a few moments later he realised he was not to slay him. Otherwise his presence would be found out. He would not risk that.

As soon as the orange torch light fell on him, Aragorn cringed and stayed close against the wall, unsure whether he would be seen. Did the cloak work in full light, or only in shade? He could not remember now. And there was no time to think. It was time to act.

There was a great body of orcs ahead of him, all wriggling and shuffling in their thuggish manner. This was a massive cavern under the mountain, all hacked out as if in some insane frenzy and left for, for who to finish off? Certainly not themselves. And the sparse furniture in here was not at all pleasurable. Crude and ugly, there were odd chairs and uneven tables, blood-congealed maces and hooks all strewn on top.

Wrinkling his nose up in disgust, Aragorn became aware of a repulsive smell reaching his senses. Most probably it was the orcs, or the mustiness of the cave not having any fresh air for long black years. How depressing to just have red smoky fires for light, no windows or natural white light. And of course there were lots of shadows.

These shadows were good for Aragorn to hide in. He crept forward past the guard, stealthily stepping against the zigzagging wall and passing along in the gloomy edge without trouble. He placed each foot down carefully, not wanting any hint to be let out to the orcs. His years as a Ranger were now aiding more than they had ever done, and the cloak was undoubtedly helpful.

Aragorn looked around himself warily. He was making his way along with the wall, but soon his path would converge with the orc band. There were so many orcs that all the halls here must have been emptied to fill this one. Something was happening over there near the middle, but he couldn't see what. By the sounds of the orc yells they were enjoying themselves. But where was Arwen in all this?

Black orcs began to close in near Aragorn's side as he walked towards the centre of attention. He had to wiggle between their bulky bodies in order to not brush against them, and he could see soon it was going to get very difficult. The need to find out what was happening was on his mind, for maybe he would get an idea of where Arwen was, and how to rescue her. All without going into direct firelight.

Suddenly a loud savage shout jeered out above the others, and fixing his eyes ahead, Aragorn could see it had come from what must be the leader of the orcs. He shuddered. What an absolutely revolting creature it was. He was standing on a long platform, but how he managed to walk there Aragorn had no idea. The size of his mind-blowingly fat bulbous body was gigantic, far too overweight to be real. He had to blink in shock before he could take it all in, and still it was no easy task. The orc's layers of disgusting flab were just hanging over the frame of his body, pouring out because he could not hold it all in. There was just so much! And his face: what a horrible snub nose, and a hairy grey head like the mould which grows on far too out-of-date bread. The mouth leered in an avaricious curl as the glinting red eyes, just like someone else's who Aragorn preferred to never think about, surveying the hollering orcs beneath it. No, _that_ was one orc _not_ to be messed with.

Aragorn pulled his eyes away, deciding not to watch that repulsive fat orc any longer. He dodged under thick arms and between bulky bodies, squeezing through the ever thickening group. It became apparent that the platform that the leader orc was on stretched out quite a long way on both sides, but one end was quite near Aragorn. The only problem was trying to see through all the jolting orc bodies. Apart from being ugly they were also very annoying.

Straining to see what was taking place on the high platform, suddenly Aragorn saw Arwen. He almost cried out in surprise but stopped himself just in time, feeling his heart pump heavily in his chest. She was standing opposite the hideous orc but with no obvious expression on her white face. He noticed immediately in the way she stood that she was finding the wound in her stomach very hard to cope with, and her body seemed rather tense, especially in that area. Obviously she could walk, but with how much pain, he wondered?

All he concentrated on now was reaching the platform edge. It was not too bright in this area, so he did not have to worry about the direct light shining on the cloak. Aragorn found it increasingly hard to move past the orcs without making them grunt in irritation or glance at where they thought somebody had brushed past them. He had to try to frame them on each other, knocking against their elbow as he pressed against another's chest, just having to hope they would believe it was the other one doing it.

As Aragorn was halfway there, he heard a superior voice speaking over the others from the platform. A hush fell over the normally noisy orcs and all eyes were fixed on the repulsive leader. One measly herald-orc called out to them.

"It is time to commence." Aragorn saw the leader orc smile maliciously and his red eyes came to lay on Arwen. Discontentment filled his heart as he watched this happen, and he was moved to pity as a look of fear flew over Arwen's meek face. He felt so sorry for her, so heart-breakingly remorseful and he wished he could let her know he was there.

"Klein is presented to you. _Bow_ before him." There was a shuffling noise as all the hundreds of orcs bent forward under the forceful gaze of their selfish leader. Aragorn did not bow. "…And his _bride_."

Aragorn's mouth dropped open and something prevented his lungs from sucking in the air his head really needed. After a long moment realisation dawned on him. Arwen was being _made_ to _marry_ that orc. That repulsive obese black ugly self-centred orc. No way! Arwen could not do that… could she?

He intently focused on Arwen's face as she was forced to take the hand of the Klein orc. Tears filled her usually cool blue eyes whilst the orc's expression was one of great arrogance. He waddled along the platform slowly, this clearly being an unusual effort for him. But his smugness stayed just as plentiful and he was over-obviously squishing Arwen's poor hand in his muck-ridden one. This was just horrible.

The two stopped near the end of the platform, very close to Aragorn. He could now see the soreness she had received from the walking, and already fresh blood was seeping out of her tummy. He so desperately wanted to embrace her in his arms right now, but he couldn't, he couldn't and it was tearing at his heart.

Klein the orc turned gradually to face Arwen, his gigantic swelling stomach leaving her no choice but to step back out of the way. The odd cheer or catcall rang out from some of the watching orcs, finding it hilarious to see the elf-maiden in such a position as this. Aragorn instead gazed at her in sorrow, seeing her body fearfully tremble as she was pressed to the orc's fat one. The orc haughtily indicated for everyone to pay attention to them, to him and his 'prize'.

"Come," he sneered at Arwen, with a look on his face which was clearly meant to be nice. It definitely wasn't. _"Will you take my hand in marriage?"_

There was a deadly silence in the orc-filled cavern, much looking like an ants' nest except a million times bigger. All of the greasy unsightly orcs watched Arwen with baited breath, excitement clearly ringing throughout them all. Aragorn himself felt his heart calling out to Arwen, just desperately hoping she would be okay.

Silently Arwen parted her lips and stared the extremely fat Klein orc in the eye.

"_NO,"_ she hissed, her breath shivering in the hidden strength of her voice. The cold look on her face, glowing full of hatred, was easily enough to chill a freezing winter's morn. Her eyes were so sharp and fierce this was something that had never ever been aroused from within her before. Arwen's feelings of love clearly ran very deep.

As quick as lightening Klein slapped Arwen hard across the face, sending her screaming as she fell off her weak balance. Fury stormed over the orc's greedy face while he watched Arwen tumble off the platform helplessly and slam her head hard against the cold stone floor. There was a cracking sound. Arwen did not move again after that.

Immediately a huge uproar ran throughout the orc crowd, Aragorn's choke of stinging tears hidden completely. Nosy yells of interest rang about and rude jeers flew towards the livid leader orc, just getting even further under his flabby skin. Instantly a tumult broke out between those on the platform and those swarming below. Orcs started rushing forward and harsh cries ripped through the air as fists pummelled down upon each other. Then hasty weapons were drawn and screeches pierced ears as the befouled creatures began hewing at each other.

Whist Arwen was momentarily forgotten Aragorn took the chance and shot forwards, kneeling quickly down over her small body in the fierce bare light. Trembling, he cast the silky cloak over her hurt form, with only a faint swishing sound to reveal what was happening. As he carefully slipped his arms underneath her legs and her bruised back, Arwen's head tipped towards him and he saw a trickle of blood slowly running down her pale forehead.

More tears filled his eyes and itched his icy throat. Hatred was pulsating violently within him, despising that foul, foul orc. How could he do this to Arwen? One moment about to marry her, the next striking her to the ground, was that the sign of care for her he would claim to have?

Aragorn gently stood up, comfortingly holding Arwen to his chest. He had not liked the look of that blow on her head, he had not liked it at all, and he seriously hoped it had not done too much irreversible damage to her. Many deadly knocks came like that.

Under the dark cloak he gazed down at Arwen in his arms. She was unearthly still, not even the sign of her chest moving softly up and down. Her eyes were shut closed and the red scarlet colour of the blood nearby was in such contrast to her white skin that Aragorn found it difficult to not keep looking back at it. She was so beautiful, fair and gentle, nothing, not even the evil here, could take that away from her. Aragorn's emotions were momentarily stirred as her mild, innocent face began to lull him away into a dream.

A filthy orc cry from a very close proximity quickly roused Aragorn and he furtively stepped away from the sharp orange light, squeezing back into the fidgeting orcs. They were all stimulated by the fighting nearby, and more were joining in. It appeared that if he wasn't careful he would be caught up in a lot of sword-work without much warning.

Maybe Aragorn was a little too keen to make his way over to the cave-wall, but one orc noticed that Arwen was missing. In seconds the skirmish was carried over to where he had just been, the leader orc, belly swinging and chins wobbling, bellowing in outrage. Aragorn did not care anymore about brushing tightly against the orcs; all he needed to do was get out of here right now.

As he came into the thick shadows Aragorn turned back to see searchers being sent out through the messed up crowd to find their captive. If it had not been this situation Aragorn would have found it mildly amusing to see their looks of amazement as they discovered Arwen had vanished when she had been knocked out. But up there on the platform clearly standing out from the others was the leader orc.

Once again anger surged through Aragorn's body, making him subconsciously caress Arwen's silky head even more as he replayed the orc's hit in his mind. Suddenly he drew out a knife, holding Arwen skilfully in one arm and balancing her to his chest. Pulling his arm out of the cloak, he aimed at the orc and then the flashing metal was flying, soaring extremely quickly towards its bulky target. Just as Aragorn hid himself back under the dark cloak a massive cry fled from the orc's lungs as the razor-sharp missile pierced his heart. Aragorn grimaced bravely and turned away, seeing the confusion effect of his shot. He only wished the disgustingly fat orc had suffered more.

Now Aragorn hurried urgently through the rushing orcs, the need to come to the tunnel entrance much weighing on him. He did not know how Arwen was, but she certainly needed help, and his was all she could have. But he could do nothing until they were safe, and how long till that would it be? Something he could make happen sooner.

At last Aragorn reached the safety of the tunnel, and fled gratefully inwards. Suddenly he was coming face to face with legions of his own battle-lusting Dunedain men. He called out to them as he scrambled through, his arms protectively round Arwen's slim body, commanding them frantically to let him pass by. They could not see him, but a narrow gap managed to part in between the rows, as the men started to charge out into the clamouring cavern. Now Aragorn could see just how many Rangers he had, line upon line stretching all the way back through the dark passageway. As the compressed army ended, there were still a few more jogging along to join in. There would certainly be no future for those awful orcs; they had tied themselves up in one web which they could not escape.

Finally the tunnel became empty, and Aragorn relaxed, knowing he and Arwen were safe. She was still in his arms, her warm head resting against his chest and her tender body huddled together with her legs over his right arm. He could not risk stopping yet, they were too near the fighting, but the tunnel swiftly fell into a deep unbroken silence, disturbed only by Aragorn's hurried footsteps.

He slowed down a bit, trying to disturb Arwen as little as possible. He did not want to hurt her, or wake her if she was indeed merely sleeping and not unconscious. The black tunnel seemed endless, far longer than it had when he had rushed in, and it was hard work struggling along uphill. Aragorn also had to be very careful not to run into a sharp wall, now not having a spare hand to guide himself by.

After some enduring and difficult minutes, Aragorn thought he sensed Arwen move in his arms. At first he was not sure, wondering if it was just her being rocked as he ran. But then he was sure, positive that she really was stirring. Quite apart from anything else in contact with his body, he felt her soft hand sneaking up to his bare chest just below his neck. The contrast in her touch made him immediately aware of her, the sleepy movement of her fingers as she stretched weakly and the tired rubbing of her cheekbone against his torso as she settled her head down more comfortably.

He smiled as he kept on going, immeasurably reassured by knowing she was at least breathing and conscious. Before he had had no idea whether she had been at death's door or just unable to move at his loving handling of her. But she was living, she was alive and she was actually here, lying in his arms! He had done it, at last, and his Undómiel was safe…

And when they came out he could tend to her hurts, and put an end to the searing pain from her deep sword cut. All he wanted was to make her happy, to make her smile, and to be able to love her as he so much desired to do; and at last he could. His darling Evenstar, his sweet, beautiful Arwen was safe.


	16. Healing Arwen

16. Healing Arwen

Aragorn continued to run along up the steep tunnel with the ever-growing sense of peace that Arwen was okay. He now truly realised how much he had missed her, and as every moment past he was filled with more and more arousing love for her. The fact that she was hurt made no change at all to the view of her, in fact it made him crave her even more. She was still beautiful, more beautiful than before, and though she had been wounded and splashed with blood when he had last been able to see her, her fair face still stirred his passion in a very seducing manner.

But as Aragorn was running along, he became aware that Arwen was crying. At first he couldn't believe it, for it was also quiet, muffled and hidden, but then her sobs became louder as she shifted more in his arms. Her breaths were suddenly all jumpy and she was struggling to breath, and certainly not succeeding in her attempt to hide the fact she was crying. He was afraid he was hurting her somehow, the movement of his body pressing against hers tearing at the gash on her tummy, or digging at a bruise elsewhere. In the tunnel he did not want to stop, for fear that the orcs may just somehow break back after him. But he could not ignore Arwen any longer, something was badly wrong and her tears were concerning him.

Still checking that there were no sounds behind him, Aragorn slowed down and came to a stand still. The soft material of Arwen's cloak over them both fluttered against his cheek as he breathed heavily, merely listening to the sound of Arwen sobbing at his chest. Then he gently lowered her down and laid her on the hard ground, trying to avoid the rockiest places. He couldn't see anything in the pitch blackness, but he felt Arwen's tight hold onto the collar of his shirt as he tried to sit up above her body. He delicately placed his fingers over hers, nudging them away so that he wasn't being choked, but she suddenly burst out into more violent tears and Aragorn began to hear she was trying to call him.

"Estel… Estel…" He leant in closer, trying to judge where her face was without crashing into her. Hot breath started to wash over him, and he realised he was very near when he could hear the droplets of her tears falling off her cheekbone and onto the floor.

"Arwen? _Meleth nín_, what's wrong?" Carefully he brought up a hand and his fingertips touched her cheek, damp and warm, water running over the smooth surface onto his hand, and trickling down his wrist. He could sense how great her distress was just in the way she was breathing, and how her hand reached up to his head, running her fingers through his silky hair as she pulled him closer. Suddenly she gave a hiccup and then Aragorn felt her body tremble beneath him as she cried out helplessly.

He called her name, but she was just finding it difficult to respond to him. Aragorn moved inwards and brushed noses with her, showing her he was there for her, always with her. Immediately she softened at this gesture and she managed to have little breaks between her deep breaths.

Then she whispered to him again, in her hushed voice, speaking as much as she could. Her words flipped over each other, rushing as she tried to breathe quickly.

"Estel; I'm so sorry…" She moaned and hugged him closer, resting her closed eyelids against his shoulder, squeezing the tears down his tough leather clothing. Aragorn held her fragile body to him, soothingly stroking her soft head and rubbing her back in circles. Her words became hidden as she pressed against his chest and her tears prevented her from saying anything. But Aragorn felt her shaking still as his hands ran over her body.

"Arwen, there is nothing for me to forgive. Please," he lifted her head off his shoulder and heard her sniff as she tried to see his face through the darkness. "…don't cry…" He smiled reassuringly, forgetting that she could not see him. But her distress was so confusing; it didn't make any sense.

Instantly she leant forward, crying to him again. "Estel, I'm _so _sorry…" He felt her head brush under his chin as she looked down him. "I didn't mean for this to happen…"

"Arwen, meleth nín," Aragorn whispered. "My Evenstar, don't worry… shhh," he slowly brought up a hand and wiped her cheeks dry of tears, sensing his way extra carefully without seeing where she was. "Arwen, it wasn't your fault what happened, it was-"

"It _was_ mine," she sobbed, moaning through more floods of tears, drenching her face again. "It was mine, Estel… I'm so –hic– sorry…" She pulled herself against his body, rubbing her face against his clothes as if in yearning for his scent to be on her. Aragorn sighed gently and entwined her hair round his fingers.

"I should never have been watching you, Arwen. You were bound to turn round. It was my fault."

"Nooooooo…" Arwen whimpered, wiping her eyes as she cuddled closer to him. "Estel, I should never have come. I should never have thought-"

"Arwen, you were right to think that."

A silence fell around them. The encircling black darkness seemed to get blacker. Arwen stopped crying and paused, Aragorn sensing her look up at him. His heart began to beat very quickly in his chest and he felt a great desire within him to kiss her.

"You, you – you…" Arwen stuttered. As her damp fingers landed on his bare neck Aragorn felt a shiver go throughout his body. Softly he smiled, caressing her face in his hand.

"You," she took an unsure breath. "You – you should have left me in there. I am so stupid, I am worthless, pointless. Estel, you should never have…"

"Arwen, don't say that," he whispered to her quietly. She sighed deeply as he ran two fingers down her cheek and over her wet lips. "Arwen, you have never done anything so right. Arwen, I-" He stopped, not knowing quite how to say what he felt. Immediately as his words ended abruptly he sensed Arwen's keen gaze thicken on him.

"What, Estel?" she murmured, touching his forehead lightly with her fingertips. "Estel?" Aragorn heard her breathing get faster and deeper, her breath rippling over his face as she moved closer.

Suddenly, before he knew what he was doing, he found himself kissing her full on the lips, pressing powerfully to her yet tenderly moving in her sweet flavour. It had been too long, far too long since he had done this. So wonderful, so breathtaking, so brilliant…

Arwen moaned passionately as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, hers sliding round as she entered his. She pulled him closer and closer, collapsing back on the ground and sighing with gentle pleasure. The gorgeous sensations washed everything away, and as he quickly took a breath, Arwen brought him immediately back down with far more strength than he had thought she had.

And before he realised it she was massaging his tongue, running over the ticklish roof of his mouth, rubbing her salty-wet lips easily and in much fervour over his. It was heaven, more than heaven, the best dream ever to be with Arwen like this again. Just smiling at her while he leant over her, her supple fingers feeling his rough chin, this was enough. This was all he needed, this was his heart's desire and more, this was endless happiness.

Aragorn heard her softly take a breath. "Estel?"

"Mmmm?" he replied, fondling a ribbon of her hair in his fingers. Arwen sighed, a tiny quiet sigh, and drew closer, almost touching his face.

"I love you…" she whispered. Aragorn smiled, feeling the brush of her eyelashes over his cheeks.

"I will always love you, Arwen," he said in a low voice. "I will do anything for you." She leant against his chest, her hand resting on his bare collar bone where she had tugged the shirt away. They sat there together for a moment, Aragorn listening to her silent breathing, her peacefulness. After a while he was not even sure if she was awake. So he softly folded his arms under her small body, shook the twilight cloak over them both, and smoothly began to carry her out of the tunnel.

From there to the entrance of the Nhaxûn orcs' cave it was not far, and when Aragorn gratefully walked out into the white world of snow he could still taste the salty flavour of Arwen's tears on his lips. It was late evening now, and above in the sky he could see many twinkling stars where the thin wispy clouds were not drifting.

He could feel Arwen's chest rising and falling steadily against his as she slept in a light slumber, but probably the best she had had for a long while. He found it fairly amazing how light she was as he held her, his arms not at all tired while his legs were aching quite a lot. But Aragorn still carried her easily down the slope, passing through the battle-field on which they had been struggling earlier on.

Yet now the land was all snow-sprinkled again and not the dirty grey it had been left as. Under the night sky the snow appeared as a silvery-blue colour, magical and pleasing to the eyes. Aragorn found looking around himself easy, not because Arwen's cloak was still over them both, but because the bright white moon was shining down on the mountain, unhidden by the thin clouds. The snow was glistening beautifully, the peak a new place now that it had been refreshed by the snowflakes, which were still gently tumbling down upon his shoulders.

Aragorn hurried down the twisting path, finally coming out to where the ground levelled off in the deep snow. He reached the place where they had camped before and stopped, except this again looked a different place in the perfect light. He looked down at Arwen, lying in his arms, her eyes closed and her smooth fingers clinging onto the collar of his shirt. Smiling at her subconscious ease, he tugged the twilight cloak off them and, having made a small hollow in the snow with his foot, he laid the cloak down.

Then slowly he lowered Arwen's fragile body to the ground, kneeling on the hem of the cloak as he prised her fingers off his clothing. She moaned as if in a dream, very reluctant to let go, and so in the end Aragorn gave her a kiss on her forehead which immediately made her go floppy and limp.

Aragorn stood up and then quickly set about building a fire. The main thing for him to do was to keep Arwen warm; otherwise there would really be no hope. He also needed to carefully wash her deep sword-cut and make her his drink from some of the Coilas leaves, so that she would feel no more pain.

Placing some twigs from his pack in a wigwam shape he managed to strike a fire amidst the icy snow. Whilst it heated up and grew bigger he began to put up his tent close by, doing it very fast. He always made sure he could count to 100 as he did it, and then by 99 he would be finished, and on the last number he would stand back and survey his work. The snowfall made it a little tricky as the flakes tumbled into his eyes but it was so light that the tent was not weighed down heavily at all, and at the end only had a sparkling dusting over the surface.

Rushing back to the campfire, Aragorn took out a flask of water, pouring it into a bowl from his rucksack, and taking it to the now-fierce heat of the flames. As the water warmed up he watched Arwen as she lay sleepily on the cloak, her tender stomach exposed as she was gingerly curled up. It clearly was painful, and even now a trickle of bright red blood was squeezing through her body's attempt of a scab. She hadn't really healed at all.

He sighed and looked back at the bowl of water. It felt hot in his hands and so he took it away, pouring half of the water into a cup, filling up to just below the brim. Then he crumpled up some of his Coilas leaves and dropped them into the clear liquid. Immediately the surface steamed and a sweet, soothing smell wafted up. Aragorn paused, and then added a few more, deciding that it had better be quite strong so that Arwen could have some rest.

Whilst he swirled the water and Coilas essence he shifted over to Arwen nearby, the glow of the fire flickering on her pale face. Already the thick shadows created by the fire were tight around them, leaving a strange island-like feeling. Aragorn gently lifted up her light body and cuddled her in his lap as he sat back down on the dark blue cloth. Arwen let out a small sigh and drew closer to his chest, her hands creeping up his jacket again. He smiled, brushing her raven hair off her face and tipping up her chin.

Then he placed the rim of the cup to her lips, gradually tipping it up so that the warm liquid ran over her lips and turned them a deeper colour. Parting her lips in response, she started to drink the strong Coilas mixture, Aragorn stroking her silken head fondly. He needed the effect of the leaves to work on her before he tried to heal her cut, otherwise it would sting her dreadfully. Arwen continued struggling to swallow, her eyes still shut tiredly and her fingers entwined round a stray lock of his hazel hair.

Suddenly Arwen fell still and the empty cup fell from her hands onto the cloak. Aragorn knew that the Coilas leaves had taken their full effect and had now sent Arwen into a very deep sleep. She would awake again before too long, but the numbing of the leaves would continue to work for quite a few hours.

Reaching out, Aragorn dragged the half-full bowl of still steaming hot water next to him. Keeping Arwen on his lap he searched in his pockets, taking out his leather pouch of athelas and laying it on a blanket. Then he lifted Arwen up gently, moving gradually out from underneath her body and softly laying her down in the warm, cosy hollow which he had created. She gave a little sigh as her head fell to one side, but other than that she was still and silent.

Aragorn knelt beside her, still only two feet from the burning fire. Opening his pouch he bruised some of the rich leaves in his fingertips, casting them into the balmy water while flowery-scented oil ran down his fingers. The liquid swirled into a silver colour, and then calmed down after a few seconds. Aragorn dipped a white cloth into the bowl, soaking it completely as he left it there for a minute.

In the meantime he turned to Arwen's stomach, now really just a horrible bloody mess he needed to clean up. He cautiously touched the tender area, slowly pulling away the ripped material of her velvet dress. At first the strong stain prevented him from seeing but then he found that she was also wearing shift underneath, torn as well. Around all sides of her wound he turned over the material of her dress, leaving the cut a clear space encircling it.

Now he lifted the saturated cloth out of the warm liquid and lightly rinsed it out in his hands, the water dripping back into the bowl. While there was still a lot left in the fabric he brought it over above Arwen, a few more drops falling down onto her. Then, watching intently, he delicately dabbed the wet cloth upon her hurt tummy, gently wiping away the dried blood over her skin. He had to keep on washing the little handkerchief, but after some hard work and long minutes, the flesh around the red gash became cleaned and a pale colour again. Aragorn could now see the full extent of what the orc's sword had done to her.

The blade had cut deeply into the left side of her stomach, going into her soft flesh about three centimetres down. It stretched across the length of one corner of his palm to the other, and at each end the tissue was still being torn further apart. Aragorn worked his way steadily inwards and then carefully started to wash the cut, turning the cloth a browny shade. Arwen was very tender around there, and almost as soon as he had begun fresh crimson blood began to squeeze out again.

Aragorn sighed in quiet frustration. He continued to cleanse the cut, wiping out all the rejected blood and her body's attempt at healing. There was no way he was going to risk her getting infected there, so he repeatedly rinsed out the cloth, until Aragorn was sure Arwen's wound was completely clean.

Then he left the handkerchief in the bowl, and instead took some of the dark green leaves into his hands. Vigilantly he brought them over to her exposed tummy, looking much better for what he had done to her. Aragorn gently pressed the leaves one by one into the sore cut, crushing them as he did so, not wasting any of the precious oil within the plant. He placed them all along her gash, lovingly stroking the raw edges of it as he did so. Even as he did this Aragorn seemed to note some change in her there, the stomach muscles relaxing and the wound seeming rather vulnerable to his touch.

Aragorn next searched in his backpack for some more cloths. He drew out some very soft white ones, perfectly clean and untouched. As he glanced back at Arwen's bare stomach he saw a large snowflake winding its way down towards her hurt and just before it landed he blew it away, sending it spinning off into the air. Then Aragorn spread out his bandages over her tummy, gently pressing it down over her extremely soft skin. He was lucky that the athelas also stemmed the flow of her blood and did not seep through onto his new dressing. Aragorn began to wrap it around her waist, tucking it underneath her slim body and pulling up the end from the other side of the hole in her dress. It was so big that it didn't really matter he was doing this; he was not going to do it any other way and he was not ripping it even more either.

Finally Aragorn thought he had enough strips of cloth around her stomach, and so he folded the ends together, doing flat knots to tie them on but not be in the way when Arwen awoke. It took some skill to do that, for otherwise the bindings would just fall off, but Aragorn managed to make them stay together really well, and by the end it was merely one smooth white surface. He smiled to himself as he lightly pulled the frayed edges of Arwen's now clean but damp dress back over the hems, somehow with a great hole still in the middle. The soft material of her bandages showed through, but as Aragorn rubbed them gently and soothingly he knew Arwen would be fine with it like that.

He looked up at Arwen's face, thinking that he should lay her in their tent so as to keep her warm. Then he saw that she was watching him sleepily, a dreamy expression in her tender azure eyes. Smiling lovingly he leant over her healed body, his face coming rather close to hers. Her lips curved up in a content smile, but rather seducing too Aragorn thought, and she sighed as their eyes met. Aragorn was not quite sure whether the Coilas leaves had had rather more effect than he had expected, or if Arwen really was looking at him like this of her own accord; but he had a sneaky feeling it was something more than weeds working here.

Arwen gazed up at him, her long eyelashes framing her deep eyes beautifully. "Thank you," she whispered, slowly bringing up one hand to stroke his chin. Aragorn smiled gently in return and flicked his eyes all over her face, trying to take in all her beauty at once.

"What for, _meleth nín?_" he asked her, his eyes momentarily resting on her lips. In silent reply Arwen laid her fingers lightly on her bandaged tummy, only being able to feel it and not see it at this angle. But she also placed a little pressure on his neck, bringing him closer again.

"For _everything,_ Estel…" she murmured, the strange look in her eyes making her appear almost childlike and innocent, showing her adoration for him. Aragorn softly put a kiss to her lips, halting her words. As he broke away he noticed Arwen's eyes flicker around his face, a growing hunger suddenly there. A snowflake fell down and rested on Arwen's cheek, icy and cool, before it sleekly melted and ran down her rosy skin.

Aragorn took himself away from Arwen's meaningful stare and sat up, realising just how cold it really was out there. Smiling reassuringly at her he hurriedly bundled his belongings back into his rucksack, folding up his pouch of athelas and sliding it into his jacket.

Then he effortlessly scooped up Arwen's body and carried her to the tent, kneeling down and resting her on the soft blankets lying on the floor. He pulled his bag inside and took a twig from the campfire, able to light a small lantern in the looming darkness. Once back inside the tent he fastened the door-flap shut, keeping out the unwelcoming breeze.

Shyly he looked at Arwen, who was just relaxing next to him; yet he thought there was something rather more implying in the way she laid. He began to pull out more blankets, fleecy cream-coloured ones which were delightfully warm and cosy to sleep in. He tugged his shoes off and shoved them into a corner with his rucksack. But with his every single movement he felt Arwen's heated stare on him, burning all over his body, focusing on his face; and then finally he could bear it no longer.

He turned round to face Arwen.


	17. Arwen and Aragorn as One

17. Arwen and Aragorn as One

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Arwen opened her eyes blearily in the bright light of the late dawn which had filled up the tent. She saw the weak shadows as people moved slowly by, and heard the distant sounds of the Rangers moving around. But it was Aragorn her gaze immediately fell upon.

His hand snaked up her body as he rested his head next to hers, and smoothly pressed their foreheads together. A huge wave of happiness surged through her body, sending her heart pumping quicker and with fresh elation. Aragorn smiled, something which was so wonderful it made her sigh in pleasure from the beautiful sight, and she edged closer while his hand rose up her back, his fingertips pressing down avidly on her skin.

Suddenly she remembered what had happened last night, and she felt the flame which had slumbered within her relight powerfully again, and her eyes showed the strong desire to get that close to him once more. Aragorn must have picked up on this, for he leant in towards her, his lips twitching amusingly. For a little while he just watched her, taking in all her soft features to which he was so much addicted. And that fire in her eyes was extremely tantalising.

"What are you thinking of, Arwen?" he suddenly asked, a grin lighting up his face and matching his flirtatious voice. She laughed softly, playfully running a finger down his bare neck, but knowing how deeply it would touch him.

"Oh, I think you know," Arwen said dangerously. Her eyes showed the passion which had been made and once again she felt that gorgeous desire to make love to her wonderful Aragorn.

"Remind me again," he replied, his very bold daring shooting throughout his low voice.

Arwen flared her eyes, showing her consent. Immediately she felt her heart beating quickly in her chest, the yearning to kiss him unbelievable. Leisurely, painfully slowly, she began to lick her lips, washing over every single pink part of her supple skin until it was the deep magenta shade which she had recently learnt turned Aragorn on. He moaned and tried to bring her closer already.

"This is only the beginning," she whispered warningly, making Aragorn whimper pitifully. Pushing out her shining red lips she leant forward, her eyes instinctively falling shut. Arwen pressed a hot kiss to him, tenderly rubbing to his lips, lovingly drawing in his breath; and then she was in his mouth, her tongue massaging unbelievably passionately, her lips bearing down with more and more addiction. Her heat filled their kiss, her sweet scent covered his face, and her love struck his heart. For the last move she slid her tongue over his lower lip, and nibbled at it teasingly, before drawing away gently.

She flashed her eyes open, ecstatic with her kiss, and even happier with its effect. With a dazed expression on his flushed face Aragorn opened his eyes, staring at her dreamily. Arwen collapsed into fits of giggles, her body tickled with hysterics and her face smiling brightly. She cuddled up to his chest, still trembling as he wrapped his arms round her little body.

"It is far too early in the morning for that, _meleth nín,_" Aragorn accused her, but her laughter was starting to wear down on him too.

"You were asking for it," she replied airily, stroking her fingernail down his throat. He inhaled profoundly to restrain himself from shivering. Arwen gave him a light kiss on his forehead, and then rested her head in the hollow of his arm with a little sigh. There was a warm moment as they both snuggled up together, just content to curl up in the gentle hold of each other. A calm sense of peace fell upon the couple.

After a few minutes Aragorn quietly spoke out of the silence. "Arwen?"

She buried her face further into his chest, a murmur of recognition vibrating through his body. Smiling, he pulled her lovingly closer, his fingers brushing fondly over her prominent chest.

"Arwen, I, I - err…" She looked up, puzzled, drawing his hands subconsciously back up to her chest. Aragorn stuttered. "I… have something to give to you." His grey eyes fell back to hers, and Arwen felt her soul give a passionate leap, stirred with a rushing wave of love for him. She breathed out shakily, her hands weakly sneaking up his chest.

"Is it more of your… _love, _Estel?" she whispered, holding his eyes temptingly. He pressed his forehead to hers, smiling softly all the while.

"I give you my life full of love for you, Arwen," he replied, rubbing noses with her. "But I do have a something else." Brushing his eyelashes over her cheek he felt behind him for his jacket, discarded by Arwen long ago at the beginning of last night. She watched him curiously, aroused by this present he was going to give to her. Delving inside one of the pockets, she saw him take out a small object, hiding it in his fingers. He shoved the jacket back where it belonged and wriggled back into their cocoon of warmth under the blankets. Arwen slid her fingers around his waist, bringing him closer.

"Arwen," Aragorn breathed, his face only an inch from hers. "You are so beautiful, and so gentle, and loving; nothing could ever match the light on your face, the softness of your skin, the warmth of your touch, the stars in your eyes. No kiss could be more perfect than the ones you give me, no gaze from under your long eyelashes could be more intense than those you flash at me. No heart could burst full of more love than mine, not when I have you here, lying in my arms." He sighed quietly. "Arwen, you have given me everything you have. But I still love you even more every minute I spend with you." He pressed something firmly into her hand. Arwen paused inquiringly, and then looked down at what was resting in her palm.

"Arwen, _I love you_…" Those three words made Arwen tremble as she brought her fingers up from the contact of their hot bodies, bathed in each others' warmth. It was smooth, wonderfully smooth, a gentle curve of something with faint heat, and with a strange undecipherable object on the back. She glanced once more at Aragorn for a clue, but he was focusing down at her hand. She looked down again, slowly unfolding her fingers.

Arwen gasped silently, her eyes falling down on the object - it was the most beautiful hairclip she had ever seen. But moreover it was the one she _herself _had spied on Aragorn making. It was even prettier than she remembered it being, the colours brighter and yet subtler than they had been before. The sweet green of the wings was the colour of fresh vibrant leaves, in their first summer's day, glowing in the sun. These two wings lovingly held the feathers of the silky blue, shimmering like a cool pool of water reflecting a perfect sky, a magical depth hiding below the surface. There were little gems floating in the lake, silvery stones which created their own tiny rainbows as they caught the light. They went brilliantly with the generous ring of smooth pink, the shade which Arwen loved more than all the other tones of pink there could ever be. It was so bright, such a warm and tender colour, seeming to be living out of love itself, a fervent power behind which matched the pink moat.

But there in the centre was the circle of azure, drawing in Arwen's eyes further and further. It was sweet and gentle, mesmerising and dreamlike, so beautiful and soft. There was some enchantment behind the cool appearance, something special which drew here onwards, and it moved Arwen's heart the most. The colour somehow seemed to remind her of herself, a mirror of her; yet not her as she was seen. It was her love, her heart and her soul there, the gorgeous form in which Aragorn felt her when they were touched with each other's love, the way he could express his fondness. And she suddenly felt Aragorn's love reach out to her as she gazed downwards, his endless affection for her, the care with which he thought of her, the adoring voice with which he spoke to her, the sensitive touch in how he held her, the passionate way in which he loved her…

"Estel…" she murmured, bringing her eyes up to his. He found tears welling in her sapphire eyes, making them sparkle and shine, like baskets full of stars. Gently he slid his arms round her, delicately holding her close to him. Just how she gazed at him showed her love, the emotion which had been created by his little gift. She shivered, but continued to hold his eyes, letting her passion flow into him like an invisible river running through the air. "Estel, it's… it's…"

"Shhh," Aragorn soothed her, smiling softly. "You don't need to tell me in words." He lifted Arwen's dark hair out of her eyes, letting her tumbling waves fall down over her shoulders. Then he progressed to fondle her hands, stroking her hot palms lovingly; and all the while keeping their eye-contact. As soon as Arwen began to edge nearer, he felt their aura turn instantly more concentrated. Carefully she took her fingers out of his grasp, placing them lightly on his neck as she pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. The compassion warmed his heart, swaying his love for her as a swing in a summer-eve's breeze, her kiss glowing throughout his body and finding all the affectionate ways to show her love for him. She didn't need to say thank you out loud. She had said more than enough in her kiss.

They quietly broke away, each running their eyes all over the other's face. Arwen smiled, wiping away the beads of happiness trickling down from her eyelashes over her flushed cheeks. Without any sound Aragorn took his wooden comb and crawled around Arwen's body as she sat amidst the blankets, kneeling behind her. He gently pulled the teeth through her thick shining hair, laying the smooth silky locks down her back, going down to just above her slender waist. He could sense Arwen's contentment and pleasure as he continued to brush for longer, putting down the comb and sweeping stray strands off her face. From both sides he made small plaits, perfectly shaped, entwining flawlessly together at the back of her head, and then fastening his clip there to hold her beautiful ebony hair in that simple and yet enticing manner.

Arwen pulled out of the embrace of his hands and gingerly turned round, wary of the wound in her stomach. Seeing this Aragorn laid one hand there, causing Arwen to look up with joy in her blue eyes.

"I love you, Estel. I love you so much. I have so much love that my heart is overflowing for you." He merely smiled, resting his other hand on her waist. He silently placed a warm kiss on her bare neck, receiving a deep intake of breath from Arwen. He ran a trail of kisses down, rippling over her collar bone and along her bare chest. She moaned lowly, pulling him closer and closer as his touch became more intense. As he slipped his lips down even more, she ran her fingers over the top of her white slip, tugging the neckline lower and lower with much lusting, exposing an irresistible cleavage to him. Just as his amorous kisses sprinkled upon the sensitive part of her body, there was an interrupting shout.

"My lord?"

Aragorn paused, reluctantly looking up. Unsure he focused on the doorway to the tent, wondering if what he had heard had been correct. Sure enough a voice called him again.

"My lord? Are you, um, there?" The man spoke timidly, and he shifted his feet uncomfortably as he stood close to their tent. Aragorn sighed heavily and made to draw out of Arwen's close hold, but she locked his wrists firmly in her long fingers.

"Arwen, I have to go," he whispered, immediately regretting it as he let himself fall into her forlorn eyes, melting rapidly under her spell. She parted her lips, making a slinky move towards him again.

"_No,_ Arwen, _please_." She stopped her seducing actions and glanced down unhappily, her wet cloud of disappointment falling heavily upon him. "Meleth, I'm sorry." She refused to look up into his eyes. "Arwen, please, _Arwen_…" He tilted up her chin and forced her to raise her eyes to him. She looked so forlorn, making Aragorn feel very mean and bad about himself.

"I'm really sorry," he muttered again, stroking a finger down the side of her face. Immediately Arwen's complexion slid away into nothingness, and instead she watched him with love, for she could never be annoyed with him for long. "I'll be back soon. Promise."

He crawled out of the tangle of blankets, heading with a rustle towards his pile of trousers, which he tugged hurriedly on, and then rammed his boots quickly onto his feet. Smiling lovingly at Arwen, he tore himself away from the longing to stay with her, and he untied the door-flap and wobbly stepped outside.

Aragorn stood up, blinking in the bright light. It was clearly much later than he had assumed, and even though the Rangers (who had arrived a few hours after him and Arwen in the night) were still just about finishing breakfast, he knew that he had been 'reclining' far longer than his men were accustomed to.

"Aah." He turned and saw Emathar, sighing in relief, wringing his hands nervously a few metres away. He was happier now that Aragorn had showed up, and Aragorn began to wonder whether he and Arwen had been heard last night and this morning, or if what they had been doing was guessed at by his friends. It definitely seemed as if Emathar had been extremely unwilling to disturb him.

"What's wrong, Emathar?" Aragorn asked, noticing he had left the tent-flap still open. He knelt down to close it up.

"We have a visitor, Aragorn," came the reply. In midway of closing the door Aragorn stopped. "What do you mean, a visitor?" he asked suspiciously. Standing he moved over to his friend, starting to walk along through the equally white snow and tents. Now that Aragorn was there, Emathar looked fairly relaxed. But Aragorn was rather concerned. He had a sudden fear it was Elrond.

"Two, actually," Emathar said. He would not tell any more. "Come and see."

Suddenly Aragorn caught sight of a tall slim figure standing by two horses, and then another one came into view. As he approached there was no question of who it was; well, one anyway. The person turned as Aragorn came out into the snowy clearing.

"Kelmeleth!" Aragorn ran forward and clasped his friend's hand. "How are you?"

The elf grinned, patting Aragorn on the back. "I'm well, good, thank you. Here; let me introduce you to Lirë." The other elf came and shook hands, smiling politely. After a few words Lirë wandered off again to talk to some Rangers he had just been with.

Aragorn turned back to Kelmeleth. "So, how did the battle go?" the elf questioned. "I see you won." He brushed some snow off his dark green cloak, flicking off to the side.

"Oh, it went fine," Aragorn replied breezily. "I suppose it was easy enough to win."

"Something else to win to though…" Kelmeleth replied, making Aragorn look at him in shock, eyes wide in amazement. The elf smiled but quickly changed the subject. "I'll make sure Lady Galadriel hears of your skill, and lets Lord Elrond know. I'm sure you will appreciate that." Aragorn inclined his head in gratitude, making sure to not say anything.

Suddenly he felt something very odd shiver through his body, like a cold touch trickling down his back, as if there were some kind of urgent need falling over him; and as he spun round in confusion his eyes fell on Arwen. Her weak form was stumbling across the snow towards him, tripping up and wobbling with difficulty as she took every step. Crying out he leapt over to her, immediately taking her into his arms with great concern, just before her poor legs gave way.

There was a little pain in Arwen's eyes, but she smiled reassuringly anyway, a tiny sparkle still left inside her where they left off. Sighing happily, she rested her head against his chest, while he brought her back over to where he had been, and then put her down on her feet. Still clinging on to him tightly, Arwen turned to see who had arrived in the camp.

"Kelmeleth!" She smiled and sighed with relief as the young elf walked closer to her.

"Arwen, are you okay?" He came up and straight away looked at her anxiously, especially down at her stomach. "You look hurt."

She beamed despite the strain of standing like this and snuggled closer to Aragorn's body. "I'm healed, Kelmeleth," she replied in a lazy-sounding voice, gazing lovingly at Aragorn.

"Healed in more ways than one I see," he said, a huge grin on his face. Arwen blushed and glanced away, avoiding his eyes. "Well, at least you're here now."

Arwen felt Aragorn shift uncomfortably as he held her against his body. As she turned round in his arms his body was all tense and rigid.

He looked down at her, a big frown on his face. "Arwen, do you know Kelmeleth?" he asked her quietly. She met his eyes, uncertain, and not quite sure of what she was expected to say. "Um, yes, we're friends. Why?" He glanced away, not saying what was wrong. "Estel?"

Aragorn sighed uneasily. "Kelmeleth's my friend too." There was a thick silence. In shock Arwen looked back at her friend, who was airily observing the happenings in the camp. This wasn't right. How could he be friends with her Estel, and yet never tell her that he was? He hadn't mentioned anything about this.

"Kelmeleth?" she asked. He turned to meet her eyes, his elven complexion hiding what was behind. "Kelmeleth, are you friends with Aragorn?"

He said nothing for a moment, and then answered her. "Yes. For four years."

"And you never told me."

He paused again. "…No."

"Why?" she whispered, her eyes expressing her deep unhappiness. "You knew I love Estel." She felt Aragorn stir behind her, hearing her meaningful words. His hands closed around hers.

"Arwen, I haven't known Aragorn for that long. We met only four years ago, and you know that's not long. We only became closer about six months ago, and we've just talked a few times when he has passed through Lórien." Kelmeleth fell silent and watched her carefully, hoping she was not going to cry or do something that would make him feel awful.

She looked slowly back at Aragorn. "Did you never know?" she whispered, laying a hand on his arm. His eyes flicked back at Kelmeleth, and then to her. He shook his head and strung his arms around her waist, holding her closer to his body. She shivered at his intimate touch, leaning nearer to him. His eyes filled with affection for her again, and his gaze fell down to her lips. He was a little puzzled as he saw her lips were blue and trembling, and when he looked down at her body, after a few seconds his eyes flicked worriedly back up.

"_Arwen_, aren't you cold!" He exclaimed and threw his arms more tightly round her slim body. Arwen shook her head, lying so that she might stay out there with him for longer, but he took no heed of her answer and ran his hands down her back, trying to keep her warm even though she was standing in the snow, practically naked.

There was a coughing noise from over in Kelmeleth's direction. Arwen glanced at him, seeing him avert his eyes. "Err, Arwen, umm…" He trailed off.

"What? What? Tell me!"

"Arwen, you err, you're not wearing… … very _much_." She looked down at herself, and gave a muffled exclamation. All she had on her body was her underwear and her white slip, but that was not at all any more concealing than it had been last night, and the neckline was far too low from where she had just tugged it down for Aragorn's lips. Her face reddening, she huddled against him, noticing for the first time many Rangers watching her. Finding where their centre of attention was, she hurriedly pulled up her slip. Her cleavage was not a place where many eyes should go… unless they were Aragorn's, of course.

Arwen hid her face against him, wishing she could just disappear from the embarrassment of being seen like that. How could she have been so stupid? But Aragorn however began to hush her, whispering affectionately in her pointed ear, while soothingly fondling her hair and leaning his head against hers. Immediately her fear ran away, for how could she be so worried when her own Ranger was here to protect her?

Aragorn began to talk to Kelmeleth, Arwen not bothering to listen for a while, only wanting to feel Aragorn's gentle touch around her body. But from time to time she heard her name being spoken of, and then she strained to hear what they were saying about her. It was just typical that when she tried to listen she was not mentioned. Kelmeleth was talking in a quieter voice now, standing just a couple of feet away from Arwen.

"…I see it worked well. You followed my instructions perfectly, it really looks beautiful." Aragorn laughed softly as he heard this. "No, seriously, it does! I personally would have said an elf had made it." Arwen began to feel a bit suspicious. What did they have in mind?

"Thanks… I did think it was pretty myself, but you know, I was slightly worried-"

"What for? It's amazing; even if I had made an attempt on it, then it would not have been that good. But, apart from what I gave you, what was the metal you used? I have an idea, but… isn't it tremendously expensive?" Arwen opened her eyes, blinking slowly in thought. Were they talking about what Aragorn had given her? The beautiful hairclip? Just picturing it in her mind made her smile, making her feel exceptionally special.

Aragorn sighed and rubbed his hands warmly up and down Arwen's arm, unaware that she was listening to him. "Yes, I know just how much it costs. It's almost priceless now there is not much left to mine, but, yes… I was paid with that for my work down in Gondor. That meant doing things for the Steward for near on a year, which basically consisted of fighting in the constant battles with Mordor orcs. It wasn't too bad I suppose; I've come off unscathed, and with more knowledge of the Gondorian Army and the witless orcs. And of course with this…"

Arwen sensed him run his fingers over her hair, touching her glimmering hairclip. She lifted her head away from his chest, looking into his eyes and his smiling face. Immediately she returned the smile, sliding her hands around his neck affectionately. She gazed at his beautiful face for a minute, but from time to time noticing Aragorn flash his eyes quickly over to Kelmeleth behind her, who was probably mouthing something ridiculous like usual. She had half a mind to turn round and catch him in the act, but then she decided that maybe it was so embarrassing she did not want to know what he was saying.

"Well…" Kelmeleth said, trying to not seem too interrupting. Arwen took one hand down from around Aragorn's neck, turning to face him without too much of her body showing through the thin slip. She saw Aragorn smile peacefully as she moved in his arms.

"So, where are you going now?" the elf asked. "You could both come back to Lothlórien."

Arwen pondered over this. The idea of Aragorn staying in the wood of her home had never even entered her head, though it seemed like heaven and very idealistic. She had always been too busy thinking about finding Aragorn, and had never thought about what would happen afterwards. Perhaps he could come back with her. But suddenly a leaden feeling weighed down in her stomach. He may have to move on somewhere else, and not be able to get out of it. She sighed out unhappily.

"Mmm, that would be great!" Aragorn said, grinning happily. Arwen twisted her neck up to meet his eyes, finding the information difficult to settle in. "I'm sure I could arrange something," he added, leaning forward and brushing noses with Arwen. She smiled lovingly and edged nearer to him again.

"That's good," Kelmeleth said joyfully. "Well Arwen, you certainly have got what you came for, and more!" He laughed bouncily.

"What!" Aragorn exclaimed, looking back at Arwen. "What – what does he mean?" Arwen paused, suddenly feeling a little afraid. He might not be happy if she told him why she came, he might think she was silly to have risked her life just for it. She really did not want that. "Arwen?"

She bit her bottom lip. What would he say if she told him? "_Arwen?_ Are you okay?"

Aragorn wound his arms tighter round her body. She nodded, her throat icing up uncomfortably. "Meleth, tell me." He smiled gently. "Why were you travelling over the mountain?"

Arwen breathed out heavily, creeping closer to his hot body while hers shivered. "I wasn't travelling over the mountain, Estel," she whispered, taking her eyes away from his guiltily.

"What?" Aragorn asked in confusion. "Why? I- I don't understand…"

"Estel, I tricked everyone into thinking I was going to Rivendell, everyone except Kelmeleth. But I never meant to reach my father's land. I always planned to leave before." She stared downwards where their chests pressed against each other. Aragorn sighed, urging her to continue.

"I came- Estel, I came…" she trailed off, not daring herself enough to say it.

"Arwen?" he whispered.

"Estel, I came- I came because of… I came because of… _you…"_

Arwen breathed the last word so quietly she wondered whether Aragorn had even heard it. But there was such an impregnable silence, that clearly he had. She wanted so much to look into his soft grey eyes, but she feared he wouldn't be happy, feared… what?

"_Arwen_…" he murmured, his gaze burning on her face. She felt herself blush, her cheeks get redder as the rest of her body got colder.

"You – you came because of… _me?"_ Arwen nodded slowly, trying to force her eyes away from him; but his fingers came to lie on her neck, making her tremble unbearably. He ran his fingers up to her chin, firmly tipping her head his way so that she would face him. Totally unwillingly Arwen found herself looking into his eyes, holding contact before she could even stop herself.

"Arwen…" he breathed; and she saw a warm light glowing in his eyes. He watched her so lovingly, his face so tender and his eyes so sad-looking but full of admiration and… _love…_

And it was then that she realised: he was not angry, he was not ashamed that she would do something like that, he was not saddened that she would risk so much; he was not overjoyed that she could do this all by herself, nor was he stunned that she would try to reach him.

He was filled with beautiful love, the deepest care for his Evenstar; he loved her _so_ much… she had done all this; she had suffered the cold, struggled through the snow, fallen off a cliff, hidden her face so that he would not be distracted, been hurt fiercely in the stomach, taken prisoner by the orcs, teased and taunted horribly, been knocked out hard on the floor; come so near death… and all for _him_…

Aragorn sensed himself shiver, his eyes now filling with hot tears. Leaning in closer, he saw Arwen smile faintly, trying to show her understanding with difficulty. But she did not need to do any more… she had already done so much, so much pain in order to reach him. How she must love him, how her heart must have ached for his, how she must have yearned for his familiar loving in the long cold nights she had had to bear alone…

Aragorn felt his eyelids close shut as if just lulled there by his romantic thoughts… he immediately found Arwen's cold lips, her soft full lips; and then he was kissing her, kissing her so passionately and with so much fire he thought he would burst he loved her so greatly. Aragorn pressed harder and harder with need, need to express his utmost love for her. His heart beat matched with hers, her hand fitted with his, their souls mingled together…

No one could ever feel love as he felt it for Arwen then, he felt it so strongly, so powerfully and wonderfully, he just could not have enough of her. He simply loved his Evenstar with everything he had, everything and more. She meant the world to him, the trees and the rivers and the seas and the flowers and the animals; more than that, the moon, the sun, the stars, the heavens; yet still more: she was more beautiful than the stirring sunset, she was more delicate than the fluttering butterfly, she had more love than anyone else possible… save _him_.

And he kissed Arwen again and again, holding her lips to his as if the world would then fall away and melt into a perfect bliss. And it was; they were, she was… tender, warm, loving, he would always kiss her, always, and always give her his deepest, most beautiful love, just like now, always and forever, exactly like today… and a peaceful white world lay around them, and love was the only thing in Aragorn's heart as he kissed his Undómiel.


	18. Epilogue

Here is the last chapter! I suggest you reread ch 17 before you read this one.

I'd just like to thank every single person who has read and reviewed my story, it's been really really encouraging and it's made me so happy! I won't go through everyone but you all know who you are and your reviews mean a lot to me. I hope you have enjoyed my fic as much as I have writing it and it teases your imagination beautifully! Thanks so much again and… here is chapter 18!

18. – Epilogue

It was late afternoon when Celeborn walked through the tall trees of Lothlórien. The sun was almost down and the moon had already risen, creating a magical effect with the dappled shadows of the leaves. He had only just now left Galadriel sitting on a bench, still in view and he wandered leisurely down through the trees. But suddenly, just before he entered a small grassy clearing, he caught sight of two people heading along a narrow path, coming his way. And there was no doubt who the elf-maiden was who rode on the white horse. It was Arwen.

In delight Celeborn turned round to look down the path, straining for a glimpse of his wife. "Galadriel! Galadriel! Arwen's back!" He watched his granddaughter as she rode on the white stallion, Aragorn walking beside her. He was wondering when they had met on their road, when Galadriel came up next to him. Smiling he met her eyes.

"I didn't know Aragorn knew Arwen," she said thoughtfully, no expression on her face. Celeborn knew it was hopeless to work out what she was thinking of, or even ask her. Many a time he had discovered it was thoroughly pointless.

"Maybe they met each other when they entered our realm…" he replied, his eyes fixed on their Evenstar. She was laughing and smiling as she gazed down at Aragorn, rather more than was her nature. Probably she was just pleased to be back home. Suddenly he saw Aragorn laugh as Arwen said something and his eyes twinkled as he watched the elf-maiden riding beside him. Arwen giggled and tossed her hair over her shoulders.

Celeborn felt himself frown slightly. He shouldn't be suspicious, but this didn't feel right. There was something in the air which was wrong, something too lively and too… his wasn't sure. But – Celeborn mentally hit himself. Normally he would have already walked over to them, his granddaughter and the young Ranger, and greeted them in the glade. What was wrong with him? He knew what he should do; but he did not want to. There was a wall in front of him holding him back from going over to them. A little nervously he glanced sideways at his wife. Like usual her wonderfully slim form was shimmering, pearly white in the evening light, her golden her shining perfectly as if the light of the sun was glowing from within every strand. Immediately he felt comforted; he was just being silly. Everything was fine. Galadriel would know and tell him straight away if it wasn't. He should be happy his granddaughter was coming home to them both.

He watched light-heartedly as Arwen and Aragorn slowly came into the glade, shining gold in the late-day sun falling through the rich green leaves. He saw Arwen gently pull on the reigns of her horse, and as he stopped, raising his head and twitching his ears, so did the Ranger. Arwen passed the slender ropes to him, and he looped them over his wrist, whispering something to her as he did so. He looked concerned, but Arwen smiled weakly, muttering something back. Taking her hand, he helped her dismount the snow-white horse, stringing his arm around her waist as he lowered her to the ground.

Celeborn smiled faintly. Arwen was probably tired after the long journey back. Aragorn was being good to her, very kind indeed. That was nice. He fixed his eyes back on his granddaughter. She remained standing very close to Aragorn, and he saw her wind her arm around his neck as she whispered something into his ear. As she finished he saw her lean away, meeting the handsome man's eyes. Gently Aragorn laid his hand on Arwen's stomach, touching her tenderly on the left side. Arwen too looked down, biting her bottom lip, but as Aragorn lifted his eyes up to hers she smiled immediately, her eyes shining like perfect moons.

"They seem rather close…" Celeborn muttered apprehensively. He turned to see what Galadriel's answer would be, but she did not say anything. Her eyes were focused directly on the couple, a very piercing glance it looked like. Sighing quietly Celeborn followed her eyes, running his hand up the side of the mallorn tree-trunk beside him. The grey bark was rough against his fingers, but he leant against it anyway. He was not interested in feeling anything there. He was interested in what was happening in the glade.

Arwen continued to smile powerfully at the young Dunedain leader. She fondly wiped a strand of hair out of his grey eyes, earning a loving look from her Ranger. Then she firmly pressed both hands onto his chest, clearly putting a lot of pressure there, for Aragorn let go of the horse's reigns and stumbled quickly backwards, picking up more and more speed as Arwen pushed him, her long dress rippling as she lightly followed his footsteps. Celeborn could see her saying something, but not hear what it was, yet it made the man's lips curl up into a loving smile. Arwen made them move along faster and faster through the long lush grass, still murmuring soft words to him.

Then suddenly Aragorn collided with a thick tree trunk, and Arwen pinned him there against the smooth bark, still keeping her hands closely on his thinly-clothed chest. Celeborn wondered what she was doing. Surely she would stop sometime now. It wasn't even as if they were really good friends.

Arwen still carried on whispering to him, smiling more and more. From this angle Celeborn could just about see the stars twinkling in her blue eyes, but he immediately noticed when Aragorn's hands slid down Arwen's body, resting on her hips. He inhaled sharply; but his mind was suddenly not working. Instead of useful knowledge there was a deep expanse of nothing, an empty capacity. Celeborn blinked blankly from behind his tree.

Now Arwen leant in closer, her face disappearing from view behind her long silky hair. Aragorn smiled, with a seducing light in his eyes that could not be recognised from Celeborn's distance. But he wondered at his granddaughter when she pushed her chest out against his, rather meaningfully it seemed. He saw Arwen toss her hair back again, clearly asking Aragorn a question. He replied immediately, a teasing smile dancing on his lips.

And then suddenly Arwen was kissing him, kissing him hard and avidly on the lips. Celeborn gasped, deadly shock echoing through his sluggish body, transfixed on the granddaughter he had thought he knew. This could not be right! But there she was, still pressing with fierce desire against his lips, her fingers running carelessly through his long beach-coloured hair, gold streaks highlighted as she messed it up completely. Aragorn too joined in, sliding one hand through her ebony hair, bringing Celeborn's attention to a beautiful clip shining there, which he did not recognise. But it did not hold his gaze for long; he was fixed despairingly on Aragorn's hand tightly held on Arwen's waist.

"Galadriel; did you foresee this!" he asked frantically. He wished they would stop, wished that fervent image would go away and never come to be. "Galadriel?" This was awful, it was wrong, wrong, wrong!

"_Galadriel?"_ Impatiently and full of misery he tore his stained eyes away to where Galadriel had just been standing. But she was not there. Celeborn gulped in a second surprise; and then his stare fell down. Galadriel's white body was there on the leafy ground, still and unmoving. She had collapsed in sheer shock. Celeborn choked, looking back at the irresistible couple on the edge of the glade. Clearly she had not known this would happen, he thought savagely. Tears stung his eyes as he watched Aragorn and Arwen, their lips moving passionately over each other's, Arwen's body pressed very intimately to his. Just then Celeborn saw Aragorn's head tip to the side, obviously deepening their kiss as he entered inside her longing mouth.

Celeborn broke his eyes away, not wishing to observe their romantic moments. Bitter tears came down his cheeks as he knelt down to tend to his stunned wife. How could Arwen do this? She knew what she must pay if she did it, but how could she want to forsake her immortality? Arwen was like Lúthien, but she _was not_ Lúthien. No, he murmured as he wept hopelessly, hugging Galadriel's limp body to his chest, no, this could not be… he could never loose his Undómiel like he had lost his own daughter. Celeborn fell forward, conquered by despair.

But over in the golden glade, standing together by the trees, Arwen and Aragorn were at peace, their hearts merging together at last. For finally Arwen had found her Estel, her stunning Ranger, the one who she would do anything for; she would even die for him. It did not matter if she lost her immortality, because she would be with him. And that meant everything to her. She would go through all she had borne just for this heavenly moment with Aragorn, for this one kiss alone. Not even the Valar could make this wonderful love.

And Aragorn sighed happily, bringing her nearer and nearer. Bliss had to be this; bliss had to be what his heart was feeling now. He adored Arwen so much, her love was the only thing that kept him going, that kept him alive and living. She was so beautiful, the mingling lights of the moon and the sun glimmering on her dark hair, her deep azure eyes filled with stars, her far-too-tempting magenta lips pressed to his. He could never ask for more, never plead for a better feeling than this. His heart was complete when hers was so close, so near, and his soul was filled with love, Arwen's gorgeous love… And at last, here he was, finally, with his beautiful Evenstar in Twilight.


End file.
